by Fred Moleck
Coming of Age
I was in Atlanta the weekend of October 10 for the happy task of playing the organ for Patty and Mark’s wedding. I’ve known Mark for thirty-five years plus the nine months of his gestation period.
He is one of three brothers at whose weddings I played the organ. His older brother, Chris, was married to Jane twelve years ago.
(You can meet Chris and Jane in my TableTalk “I’m Too Short to Go to Mass,” a column I wrote back in April of 2002.)
His younger brother, Marty, was married to Kelly ten years ago.
If that isn’t wonderful enough, you need to know that I played the organ at their parent’s wedding thirty-nine years ago. My life with Penny and Tom reach back to our high school days.
If that isn’t enough, I played the organ at the wedding of Tom’s sister, Mary, when she married Dave twenty-five years ago.
These five couples whose lives I’ve been a part of in the past forty-nine years were all present at the Atlanta nuptials. What a blessing!
It was at this gathering that I turned sixty-five years old on October 10. That was monumental.
Here I was sitting amongst my personal cloud of witnesses while rejoicing with Patty and Mark as they joined their lives together in one of the most beautiful parts of Georgia.
On October 11 I flew to Chicago to make my ad limina visit at GIAland.
Lunch that day was a pizza bash with the work force of GIA, which included the editorial staff, the office staff, the shippers—just about everybody.
One of the women who has been there for a long time now took me aside and started the conversation with “Well, what Medicare supplement are you going to use?”
That was a bolt of reality. “What Medicare Supplement?” Yes. I am of that age.
That evening the editorial staff “feted” me at an awesome feast of high Italian cuisine. You also need to know that they are some of the most creative people in the world.
Their personal offerings to mark my “coming of age” were examples of their high cleverness.
One of these gifts provided the answer to the age old question, “What is it all about?”
The answer was printed on a bar towel, “What if the HOKEY POKEY is really what it’s all about?”
I now know the answer. I had come of age.
You can reach Fred Moleck via email at fmoleck@earthlink.net