There’s a big difference between The 60s—being “in The 60s”—and being “in Your 60s.”

Back in The 60s, you couldn’t Google, “Latin translation into English” or vice-versa. There was no “Latin App” to teach you how to speak conversational Latin in two weeks. You learned the old-school way. They handed you a Mass Missal written in Latin and you had to memorize it. They gave you until “next Sunday, 11 a.m.” They didn’t use the words “stress” or “anxiety” back then. You just felt nervous until it went away on its own or by force.

Back then, you were not handed an application for the job of “Altar Boy.” The Priest came to St. Patrick’s School and told you where to sign up. Teachers and principals told you where to sign up. Parents told you where to sign up. No discretion, no choice. Alignment and assignment. They were connected—dual meaning. The alignment and assignment were connected together and society was connected by alignment and assignment.You couldn’t tell parents, teachers or principals, “I’ll think about it.” Or, “I’ll get back to you sometime next week.” Or, “I’ll try it out and see how I feel.” And you couldn’t tell them apart. They all sounded the same. Exactly the same. Same voice, same message. You signed up for the assignment because of alignment. Then, you fell in line. No discretion, no choice.

If you Google the origin of, “It’s not fair,” you’ll find that it originated after The 60s. Back in The 60s, there was no one to complain to that it wasn’t fair. “It’s not fair,” wasn’t part of anyone’s language, not English or whatever language your parents spoke. No one understood, “it’s not fair.” Reason? Alignment. Everyone was aligned with the same mentality, same ideology, same philosophy, same principles, same beliefs. Parents, families, relatives, neighbours, teachers, principals, bosses, coaches, Priests, doctors, dentists, business owners, media, all of them were aligned. They all sounded the same. No contradiction, no confusion. You heard one message. One voice—dual meaning—the voice of your conscience sounded exactly the same as every voice in your life. No mixed messages. No ambiguity. Alignment was straightforward and kept you moving straightforward. The place didn’t matter—home, school, street, Church—you heard the same voice as the voice of your conscience. Everywhere you went, you heard Same Voices.

There was no selection process, no interviews, no testing. You memorized your lines and sat on the bench until you became a starter. St. Patrick’s Church had two benches that met at 45-degree angles, on both sides of the altar. You sat on the bench and watched the starters until you made the “Altar Boy Starting Line-up.” They taught you the basics and gave you a uniform. A surplice and robe.

Until writing this article, I thought surplice was spelled “surplus.” Google taught me that I had said it wrong and spelled it wrong from The 60s to My 60s. I’m positive they never called it a “robe.” They called it a “surtan.” I think. But there’s nothing on the internet about a “surtan.” They told you: you wore a black robe on ordinary Sundays, you wore red robes on Christmas and Easter. Back then in The 60s, every Mass was packed like Christmas and Easter in My 60s. No exception. Every Mass in the 60s was jam-packed. Standing-room only. Ushers did traffic control, inside and outside. There were traffic jams on King St., Victoria St., Kent St., West St,, even Adelaide and Catharine Streets.  And there were traffic jams inside St. Patrick’s Church in The 60s. Big difference now in My 60s.

Being an Altar Boy was a matter of life and death. They warned you, “Don’t burn down the Church” when they taught you how to reach the candles with the 5-foot candle-lighter, at “exactly five minutes before Mass Time.” The chalice had to be filled, placed in the tabernacle, “and don’t ever touch the Host. Ever.” No one asked what would happen if you did touch the Host. No one wanted to know. Two small glass bottles had to be filled with wine and water and placed next to a towel folded according to code. Then they showed you how to ring the bells, when, and for how long. They warned you not to get your surplice caught in the bells so you didn’t drag the bells across the altar. No one asked what would happen if you did. No one wanted to know. You weren’t allowed to go back into the Sacristy after Mass started. Not even to use the bathroom. Not even if you got sick. No one asked what would happen if you did. No one wanted to know.

You had to go to Confession every Saturday before Sunday Mass. Every Saturday, 4 pm. No choice. No discretion. “Bless me Father for I have sinned,” followed by your list of weekly sins. Back then in The 60s, you always got at least 5 Our Fathers, 5 Hail Mary, and 5 Acts of Contrition as minimum-sentence penance. There was no leniency. No exception. Until things changed sometime after 1970. You suffered Culture Shock the first time the Priest said, “One good Our Father and one good Hail Mary.” That was about the same time they changed the “Host Rules,” allowing you to take the Host in your hands at Communion. When we started our Altar Boy careers in The 60s, there was no Host-to-hand Communion transfer. Two Altar boys held a table cloth between the Priest and the person receiving Communion. In case the Host missed the mouth. Even then, they taught you, “Never touch the Host.”

There was no 4-year Altar Boy career like high school, college or university. I tried to quit when I started grade 6 at Holy Cross. My resignation was rejected. By everyone. Alignment and assignment. Everyone back then in The 60s said, and understood the word, “No.” My poor illiterate, Italian Immigrant parents Antonio and Maria were uneducated. They spoke only Broken Italian and Broken English. But they knew how to say, “No.” Like every other voice in your life, including the voice of your conscience. No voice was afraid to tell you, “No.”

Sick days from serving Mass?

No.

Vacation days from serving Mass?

No.

Skip Mass to sleep in?

No.

Any request to Fail To Appear?

No.

Quitting the Altar Boy job?

No.

We asked veteran Altar boys how long we had to be Altar boys. Some said, until you got a driver’s licence. Some said until you left home. Others said until you got married. One guy said, “for life.” I’m not making this up. Grown men, ex-Altar Boys sometimes made a surprise appearance on Christmas, Easter, or when the Bishop showed up for Confirmation. I started to worry that there was no way out. No retirement, early or otherwise.

When you made the starting lineup, you had to worry about two things: forgetting your Latin Lines and Stage Fright. Back then in The 60s, every seat was taken, every Mass. You felt all eyes on you. There was no privacy. Your workplace was public. In plain view. No reasonable expectation of privacy. I admit it. In My 60s, I talk about how tough it was in The 60s. And how easy they have it in My 60s. We had to serve Mass in front of a sold-out crowd, every week. They got it easy today.

There’s a big difference between The 60s—being “in The 60s” and being “in My 60s.” No traffic jam. Outside or inside St. Patrick’s Church. Why? No alignment, no assignment.

Good news. There’s a solution. I’ll explain it in Part 2.

#MuchLove

Blessings & all good things

#peace

Gino Arcaro

January 22, 2025