When my dad left the house, he usually had a cigar in his mouth and a hat on his head. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wore baseball caps or pullover knit caps. He wore serious hats: fedoras, porkpies, Stetsons. And it’s probably to those hats that I owe my faith in the Real Presence.
When Dad and I went out — walking or driving — he would tip his hat as we passed a Catholic church. At some point I must have asked him why he did that, and he must have explained that it was his way of honoring Jesus present in the tabernacle of that particular church.
But that conversation must have happened very early in my life, because I have no memory of it. What I remember is the gesture. Each time my father tipped his hat, I was reminded that Jesus was near — and that Jesus’ nearness was important to my father.
Dad was an almost silent man. He was as likely to talk with me about his spiritual life as about his sex life. But, really, what did he need to say about sex? I was the youngest of his seven children, and I was born when both my parents were 47. Enough said.
And as for the Real Presence … well, I watched my dad tip his hat whenever he passed a church. Enough said.
He said much, in little ways, with his body language. He spent hours on Palm Sunday weaving fronds into crosses to give to us children. He got up early every Sunday and went to Mass with us. He sat and stood and knelt.
Nor was he alone in this. In my most abiding early memory of my mother, she has a dust mop in her right hand and rosary beads in her left, whispering Hail Marys while she captures the dust bunnies behind the radiators in our apartment.
Dust mops, cigars, palm fronds, rosary beads and serious hats. These are the stuff of the faith I learned from my parents. In my memory, they work as icons or medals. They’re visible signs of something invisible and profound, bringing to mind God’s love as it was mediated to me by my parents.
The fathers of the Second Vatican Council wrote that the spirituality of the laity “will take its particular character from the circumstances of … married and family life” (Apostolicam actuositatem, 4).
What “little things” will bring your Catholic faith to mind for your children?
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MIKE AQUILINA is the author of numerous books and a member of Corpus Christi Council 12043 in Bridgeville, Pa. He and his wife, Terri, have six children and seven grandchildren.







