demanded.
âWell, itâs true Boyer is talking to Father Mackenzie about many things,â she said. âBut the decision about entering the priesthood is a long way off.â She smiled and pulled me onto her lap. âAnd yes, itâstrue that brothers and sisters donât get married. But no matter what, Boyer will always be your brother. Heâll always be family, and always love you.â
My brothers sat wiggling on the couch trying to stifle their hysteria. Neither of them ever let me forget the foolishness of the idea that I would marry Boyer.
Except for that conversation, the subject of his becoming a priest was never openly discussed in our family. I said nothing to Boyer. I guess I was afraid he would tell me it was true. I couldnât imagine life without him, so I pretended it would never happen.
Then one afternoon in the spring of my first school year, I sat on the steps to Boyerâs room while I waited for Father Mac to leave. The murmur of their voices leaked down into the hall. I caught the odd word like, âcommitmentâ, and âcallingâ. After a while I heard Father Mac ask Boyer a question. I could not make all of it out, but heard the last few words, ââ¦as an excuse to avoid the real world?â Then Boyerâs door opened. Before the priest came down the stairs he said, âYou will have to wrestle with those feelings yourself, my son. But not in the seminary.â His voice was kind, but I heard finality in his words.
At dinner one night a few weeks later Morgan, who held nothing sacred, asked where the priest was these days. Boyer quietly announced he would no longer be an altar boy.
My father could barely disguise the smile that came to his lips. It was harder to read my mother. I wasnât sure if it was sadness, or relief, I saw in her eyes as she nodded silently at Boyer then rose and busied herself cutting bread at the sideboard.
âDoes that mean youâre not gonna be a priest?â Morgan asked.
âNo, Morgan,â Boyer said not unkindly, âI am not âgonnaâ be a priest.â
âGuess that means you can marry Natalie now, eh?â Carl chimed in, then poked Morgan in the ribs.
âGood one,â Morgan laughed and pushed him back.
I didnât care about their teasing. I was just relieved to hear Boyer wasnât going away. That everything would stay the same. I stuck my tongue out at my brothers across the table as Boyer ruffled my hair and said, âNatalie will always be my girl.â
Even after I entered grade one, I continued to go up to Boyerâs new room in the attic on rainy afternoons, or snowy winter evenings to read and play his penny word games.
The game started out with spelling simple words for a penny. As I grew so did the words. At some point, Boyer added ten-penny words, difficult and unusual words, words I not only had to spell but define as well. Over the years, long past childish games, it remained a challenge for both of us to find words that the other did not know.
During my childhood I spent most evenings at his homemade desk. With dictionaries open beneath the glow of the lamp he taught me the power of words while the rest of the family sat two storeys below in front of the television.
âDonât lose yourself in that little box, Natalie,â Boyer said when the television first appeared in the living room. His warning was unnecessary. I never learned to love the Mickey Mouse Club or Howdy Doody shows that Morgan and Carl became so caught up in. What I did love more than anything else then was Boyer.
Sitting in his attic room, surrounded by his books, spelling words for pennies, or reading silently while he studied, was a privilege I clung to. Listening to his voice as he read to me from The House at Pooh Corner and Heidi meant more to me than any images flickering downstairs in the darkened living room while my brothersjockeyed for position on the lumpy
âWell, itâs true Boyer is talking to Father Mackenzie about many things,â she said. âBut the decision about entering the priesthood is a long way off.â She smiled and pulled me onto her lap. âAnd yes, itâstrue that brothers and sisters donât get married. But no matter what, Boyer will always be your brother. Heâll always be family, and always love you.â
My brothers sat wiggling on the couch trying to stifle their hysteria. Neither of them ever let me forget the foolishness of the idea that I would marry Boyer.
Except for that conversation, the subject of his becoming a priest was never openly discussed in our family. I said nothing to Boyer. I guess I was afraid he would tell me it was true. I couldnât imagine life without him, so I pretended it would never happen.
Then one afternoon in the spring of my first school year, I sat on the steps to Boyerâs room while I waited for Father Mac to leave. The murmur of their voices leaked down into the hall. I caught the odd word like, âcommitmentâ, and âcallingâ. After a while I heard Father Mac ask Boyer a question. I could not make all of it out, but heard the last few words, ââ¦as an excuse to avoid the real world?â Then Boyerâs door opened. Before the priest came down the stairs he said, âYou will have to wrestle with those feelings yourself, my son. But not in the seminary.â His voice was kind, but I heard finality in his words.
At dinner one night a few weeks later Morgan, who held nothing sacred, asked where the priest was these days. Boyer quietly announced he would no longer be an altar boy.
My father could barely disguise the smile that came to his lips. It was harder to read my mother. I wasnât sure if it was sadness, or relief, I saw in her eyes as she nodded silently at Boyer then rose and busied herself cutting bread at the sideboard.
âDoes that mean youâre not gonna be a priest?â Morgan asked.
âNo, Morgan,â Boyer said not unkindly, âI am not âgonnaâ be a priest.â
âGuess that means you can marry Natalie now, eh?â Carl chimed in, then poked Morgan in the ribs.
âGood one,â Morgan laughed and pushed him back.
I didnât care about their teasing. I was just relieved to hear Boyer wasnât going away. That everything would stay the same. I stuck my tongue out at my brothers across the table as Boyer ruffled my hair and said, âNatalie will always be my girl.â
Even after I entered grade one, I continued to go up to Boyerâs new room in the attic on rainy afternoons, or snowy winter evenings to read and play his penny word games.
The game started out with spelling simple words for a penny. As I grew so did the words. At some point, Boyer added ten-penny words, difficult and unusual words, words I not only had to spell but define as well. Over the years, long past childish games, it remained a challenge for both of us to find words that the other did not know.
During my childhood I spent most evenings at his homemade desk. With dictionaries open beneath the glow of the lamp he taught me the power of words while the rest of the family sat two storeys below in front of the television.
âDonât lose yourself in that little box, Natalie,â Boyer said when the television first appeared in the living room. His warning was unnecessary. I never learned to love the Mickey Mouse Club or Howdy Doody shows that Morgan and Carl became so caught up in. What I did love more than anything else then was Boyer.
Sitting in his attic room, surrounded by his books, spelling words for pennies, or reading silently while he studied, was a privilege I clung to. Listening to his voice as he read to me from The House at Pooh Corner and Heidi meant more to me than any images flickering downstairs in the darkened living room while my brothersjockeyed for position on the lumpy
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