Being from a strict Irish Catholic family meant it was a sin to skip church on Sunday. Every week Janie and I sat next to Mea Mea in the front of Saint Francis Parish. One Sunday late into mass, the collection basket came to our family. I thought the ushers were giving money away so I reached in to grab a handful. Then I glanced up at my grandmother who gave me the sternest glance imaginable. I opened my hand, releasing the cash. After mass I got yelled at as if I were the son of Satan for attempting to steal from the collection. Honestly, I was just confused. My grandmother forced me to go to confession after mass. When I told the priest my story, he just laughed, and said, “Say three Hail Marys and you will be forgiven.” I wasn't sure what a “Hail Mary” was so I said, “Number one Hail Mary, number two Hail Mary and number three Hail Mary. Done.”
Some Sundays my grandmother took us to the late mass. It was held at ten am and was called the folk mass because of the guitars and singing. Janie and I were easily swayed to go because of the all-you-could-eat free donuts at the end.
At the end of the ceremony Mea Mea put her hand to her heart and said, “That Father Paul is really going to change things in the church. He is the hope that these poor children need,” firmly believing in him and everything he stood for.
My father rolled his eyes, and said under his breath, “Eh, that scam artist? He’s full of shit.”
“How can you say that, Joe? Have you done half of what he has accomplished for kids?” she sneered while rolling her eyes at my father.
What was so alluring about Reverend Paul to Catholics was his slick, hippy-like tendencies and college education. People loved that he was not just an ordinary priest, but instead an outsider. Father Paul was making waves in honor of the rejected people in the church and some saw him to be a hero for his work. In south Boston, he was well known as the “street priest” and he was seen roaming the street like a caseworker looking to tend to kids from broken families. Actually, he was busier than the average caseworker. To attract the younger crowds, he carried around a guitar and swayed children with popular rock music.
After mass ended, Mea Mea went up to Father Paul and introduced herself. She was so excited; you could swear she was talking to a celebrity. When she came back all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she told us, “May I tell you all, Father Paul is the best thing that has ever happened to the Catholic Church. I invited him over for a cocktail party we’re going to have in benefit of the Catholic Church!”
My father shook his head in disbelief.
On the car ride home, my father began to vent about Mea Mea to my mom. “Jane, why is it that your mother is so eager to help strangers over her own family? After your father passed away, she has not reached out to help us at all and I know she has plenty of that old Yankee money. If it’s burning a hole in her pocket so badly, why is she trying to help Father Paul’s kids? What about these kids?” as he pointed his thumb at us in the backseat.
“I cannot tell her how to spend her money,” my mother explained.
Jason cupped his hand to his face in a whisper and said, “Old man’s just a drunk. Why would she give him money? To buy more booze?”
That Saturday, Mea Mea invited the whole family to her fancy cocktail party benefit. My mother dressed us up in our finest clothes and said, “Listen kids, important people are going to be at this party. Politicians and clergy. This is really important to Mea Mea so please behave.”
When we got there, I recognized a familiar face. It was Father Paul. He seemed to be the life of the party, as he was telling jokes and everyone was laughing with him. Also I saw him pouring drink after drink for everyone including Mea Mea, who was half in the bag at this point. Suddenly, he got serious.
“There is an important announcement I would like to make. I have a vision I would like you all to be a part of. I am creating a ministry for troubled teens and this could be the difference between life and death for some of these children. When these kids come to me, lost and broken, I help nurse them back to health through the power of God. When they practice their faith with me, they get better and lead productive lives.”
Not one ear in the room wasn’t listening to him speak of his greatness.
“Any donation to my ministry will do; it’s for a greater good!”
Mea Mea was one of the first in the room to pull out her checkbook. She was so proud to be helping Father Paul’s heroic vision.
Half slurring her words, she said, “Two thousand five hundred dollars for the troubledddd teens!”
I looked up at my father, whose jaw nearly dropped to the floor, but he didn’t ruin the moment. Instead, another whiskey went down the hatch for Joe.
On the car ride home, my father said to my mother, “You know Father Paul is stealing! How does anyone know what he is doing with those donations? He’s a crook and a liar. But everyone believes everything he says because he has the church behind him.”
“Why do you think that, Joe?” my mother asked.
“I am in sales. I can tell when people are full of it. And this guy is a phony.”
“Give him a chance,” my mother asked.
“Hey, he might not be all bad, but I think he’s scamming your mother and the rest of the suckers in the room.”
Not one week later Jason started acting funny. He ran out of the bathroom screaming because he thought he saw spiders climbing all over the walls. When Janie and I went in to check, there were no spiders.
“Is he messing with us?” I asked Janie.
She said, “Probably.”
Then we saw him rock back and forth, curled in a ball crying on the kitchen floor. Jason was pulling his thick brown hair out of his head, while clutching onto his dungaree jacket for dear life. Usually he was clean cut with his hair parted really slick on the side, but right now he just looked like a mess.
Terrified, Janie called Mike downstairs to help calm him down. “Mike, get down here. Something’s wrong with Jason!”
“Are you doing drugs again Jason? Relax. It’s okay. You are just in the kitchen,” Mike said as he crouched down to check on him.
Then Jason got hysterical and started crying just in time for my parents to walk through the door and witness the scene.
“He’s hallucinating,” my father said, shaking his head as Jason continued to freak out.
My mother went straight for the telephone to call Mea Mea. “Jason’s using drugs again. I don’t know what to do with him. I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself or someone else.”
Then there was a pause.
“You’ll come over later? Thank you. I really could use some advice.”
Next thing we knew, Mea Mea was at the door with Father Paul. Not five minutes into their visit, Father Paul began his sales pitch.
“Jason needs rehabilitation. I run a really strict program. He will come back clean and closer to God. We have a cabin in the woods of Milton where we treat and detoxify drug addict teens,” Father Paul told my parents.
“Jason needs God right now,” Mea Mea said, concerned.
My parents had no idea what to do so they decided the best option was to send him away to get rehabilitated with a priest for a while.
A week had gone by before my mother, Janie and I went out to the cabin to visit Jason. We entered a dirt path and drove for miles out in the secluded woods. When we arrived to the cabin, I was instructed to sit at the kitchen table while Father Paul talked to my mom and Janie in the other room.
I waited at a small kitchen table when a strange teenager sat down next to me. He was a boy, but dressed like a girl. “Get lost, freak,” Jason said as he pulled the teen up out of his seat and shoved him out the door.
As soon as the strange boy was gone, Jason started talking to me in private. “Sean, I don’t have a lot of time to tell you this. They will be back soon and I'm scared he will hear us. Can you tell mom and dad I need help getting out of here? This isn’t a good place. Weird stuff is happening and they need to get me out.”
I asked innocently, “What do you mean weird stuff?”
He replied, “Sex. And they are doing weird stuff with sheep and things. I can't explain it to you. I think they are going to get me tonight. They almost got me last night but I have been blocking my door at night with furniture so they can’t get in. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold them off. Make sure you tell Ma and Dad what's happening.”
Confused about everything, but trying to help, I nodded my head in agreement. Then in came Father Paul with my mom and sister.
Boisterously, he said, “Look! He's improving already! Okay Jason, it's almost time for bible study so the family has to leave now.”
Before I got up from my seat, I saw a look of desperation in Jason’s eyes as he whispered, “Don’t forget.”
I was very confused about what they were trying to get him for, not understanding sex at the young age of seven. Regardless of what I understood, I knew my big brother was in trouble.
When I got home I told my mother what Jason said and this concerned her. My father was on a business trip and it was just us at the house. My mother called Father Paul on the rotary dial and I overheard them speaking on the phone. Sounding concerned, she asked Father Paul, “Why was Jason so afraid today? Is everything safe for him there?”
Father Paul replied, “Oh, nothing to worry about. He is just hallucinating from the drug withdrawal.”
My mother believed Father Paul hook, line and sinker. No one would ever expect a Catholic priest to lie - especially about something this twisted. The next week Jason came home. I barely recognized him. Something terrible had happened to him, as I noticed he was not his usual self.
The following week Father Paul called and said he was going to pick Jason up again for follow-up overnight counseling. Jason hid in the bathroom, screaming hysterically as he held firmly to the sink plumbing for dear life. When Father Paul arrived, he dragged Jason out the door. Unfortunately no one saw this as a warning sign.
When Jason came home, he was not done experimenting with drugs, especially after dealing with some of the trauma he went through from Father Paul’s therapy retreat. This was the start of his selling drugs for an income and drinking like my father.