It’s time for another insight into my 2010 Mind. Here is what I wrote back then:
THE SUNDAY MAN
Lately I’ve been having “unbloggable” days (please excuse my use of a non-existent word). Yesterday was one of such days. Nothing interesting happened to me. Nothing at all. Sitting at home, bored, carrying out Day 2 of my personal strike, I realised that not going to work may not have been a good choice at all. However, one event kept coming to mind. The Event of Last Sunday. This is where the title of this post comes in. The Sunday Man has been on my mind.
Whenever I go to church, I try to sit in a particular row, about two rows behind the Sunday Man. Let me give you some information on this man before I get to the point.
The Sunday Man never misses mass. If I go by 7am, I see him. If I go by 9am, I still see him. This led to my conclusion that this man attends mass twice every Sunday. He is always early. I have never seen him walk in. He’s always there before me. He sits in the same exact spot. I laugh at him sometimes but this is because I can’t help myself. I do not laugh at the fact that he is mentally challenged (he really is) but I do laugh at some of his actions. He goes for every thanksgiving, whether or not he knows the people. Sometimes he spontaneously dashes towards the altar and has to be restrained by some ushers. Sometimes he raises a book (which has nothing to do with Church) and begins walking towards the altar. This always attracts the attention of the ushers who restrain him. His movements are timed by these ushers who stand beside him before he can think of doing anything. All these are distractions but I can’t seem to help laughing.
Well the event of last Sunday put a stop to my laughter. The Sunday Man touched me. Not physically, but emotionally. This is what happened…
It was time for Thanksgiving. A couple was thanking God for their recent marriage. The Sunday Man got up (as usual) waiting to follow the procession. He usually waits to be the last in line. An old woman with boils on her face and a bad leg was in the procession. As she slowly walked down the aisle, cane in hand, the people behind her seemed to be impatient. I saw the annoyance on their faces. They couldn’t stand how slow the woman was moving. As she got near the Sunday Man, he touched the hand that she used to hold her cane and stopped her. I couldn’t hear what he said to her but I could read her lips. She said “thank you”. I assume he told her sorry and I couldn’t help but feel bad. I felt bad for all the times I laughed at this man. Out of everybody around the woman, it was the man who was termed ‘insane’ that shared kind words with the woman.
For some reason, this one act has made me stop laughing at this man. I now think of him as sent by God. Who knows of his purpose in that church? Who knows why he does what he does? God bless the Sunday Man.
Wow, I am definitely not this person anymore, who would even laugh at that man in the first place! Anyway this has brought back memories of the Sunday Man. I hope he’s doing well. Once again, God bless the Sunday Man.
Please note that the featured picture was taken today (day after wash day). I was too chicken to unravel it for a twist out. I wasn’t sure if it had dried so I went to work with my twists. Let’s see what happens tomorrow. I will post about part 2 of my wash day routine to get my future twist out, whether it looks good or not (I’m hoping the former). I’m too sleepy to do that now!