Browsing my drafts to see what needs finishing up. I seem to be fond of jotting down titles. This one was jotted four years ago. No idea what I intended to write.

But here I am in the US just in time for the election of the first North American Pope! And I can’t help but be distracted by the endless details of Catholic life here that are so unfamiliar after so much time in Brazil. Here are a few:

There’s a certain kind of wholesome American Catholic family that is adorable and charming: a young mom and dad, healthy and glowing. Their array of children, spaced a year apart. Dressed in cheery but modest summer clothing. I imagine that the kids have charming names and great manners. At least one is probably autistic, but is gently managed through Mass, with mom covering his ears when the preaching is too loud. I suspect they homeschool. There is an innocence about them that would be lost if they went to school.

The traditional older ladies from Vietnam, Nigeria or Haiti: short, stout, and weathered. Always veiled and always wearing skirts, even if it’s the Mass of Paul VI in English. They know every devotion by heart, and pray them all every day. They are there long before Mass begins and stay for hours of Adoration. They keep the candle seller in business. They are the solid source of parish information for internet-free living: Mass times, where the bathroom is, the secretary’s phone number, etc.

The random crazy guy. Not specific to the USA! I’ve seen them in lots of places. Sometimes women do this, too. Usually involves doing a lap around the interior of the church, as if visiting each of the saints, while mumbling to oneself. Usually not properly dressed for church, but no one bothers them. In Brazil such folks generally help themselves to some of the flowers that are within reach, and are sometimes accompanied by dogs. (I’ve never seen dogs in church in the USA, but in Latin America it is sometimes politely ignored and sometimes even encouraged (supposedly to encourage people who are very attached to their dogs to come to Mass anyway).

Serious guys in suits. Fairly rare. Pretty serious. I once admired a guy who came to 7am Mass every morning in a suit. This was in Rio, where almost no one wears a suit for any reason. I thought he must be really pious. Then one day I went at 7am on a Saturday and there he was in shorts and a tee shirt, on his way to the beach instead of on his way to work…