14 May 2006 SINS OF THE FATHERS by Chris Lynch, HarperCollins/Harper Tempest, September 2006, publisher's age recommendation: 14 and up, ISBN: 0-06-074037-X;Libr ISBN: 0-06-074038-8

"Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation!

O my soul, praise him, for he is thy health and salvation!"

-- One of the hymns I fondly sort of remember from my young years, when I'd regularly find myself on polished wooden pews, surrounded by the smell of wet, thawing wool, in a warm-but-cavernous church, on cold and snowy Sunday mornings back on Long Island.

"At six-fifteen on a borderline blizzard morning, outside my bedroom window, Skitz Fitzsimmons reared his ugly head. I was preoccupied and groggy at the same time, so I didn't even notice him there until he was staring back at me like a lunatic mirror reflection. He had one eye squinted and the other eye wide and his mouth was pinched up in a pucker and shifted way over to the side. Like he always looked."

So begins the story told by Drew St. Cyr, one-third of a close-knit tribe of young men who attend Blessed Sacrament, a Catholic school in Boston that is attached to the big old church of the same name. Drew's two "partners in crime" are star altar boy Hector Fossas and the wild and crazy Skitz Fitzsimmons.

"Skitz was just along for the ride mostly, but Hector came from one of those very serious families who believed the Church was everything and everything they said was true no matter how sci-fi it sounded. He didn't believe it was everything, exactly, but he believed it was right up there. He somehow managed to be all right anyway.

" 'I don't believe you will tell me shuddup again,' Hector said calmly.

" 'I do believe I am telling you shuddup right now,' Skitz said.

"They really are good friends. It's just that a lot of the time it's a good thing that they have me in between them. I have fine interpersonal skills."

In the alternately dark and funny SINS OF THE FATHERS, Drew narrates the story of the trio's close friendship amidst the life-altering events that entangle all three at the same time that a new priest is assigned to the Blessed Sacrament parish.

"This was our new priest? This was like nobody's priest.

"In addition to his eye-catching entrance, he was a whole eyeful himself. He was a revelation. He was a whole book of revelations. We had never seen a father like Father Mullarkey, and I'd bet nobody else had either. First, he dressed like a free-walking citizen rather than a priest. A big fan of denim, of ripped denim and patches and T-shirts that looked like he was spray painted with a hose. "What else he was very much like, was a Hells Angels motorcycle club guy, which meant he looked like a big meat-eating hippy with long hair, an acre of ginger beard, and strappy, bumpy muscles. He looked like a hippy that ate hippies. He sounded like a talking bear."

As he gets to know the bear-like priest (and Father Mullarkey's love for greasy food, alcoholic beverages, and late-Sixties rock), Drew is fascinated at how the new priest so frequently strays "from the assigned text," the official Church teachings. Meanwhile, the official Church--personified by Monsignor Blarney and Father Shenanigan--is in the process of trying to sort the three young men into categories. This sorting process will hack at their bonds of their friendship. But it is the new priest who seeks to galvanize Drew, urging him to hold on tight.

" 'You've got a good little tribe there, Andrew. And all of life winds up being driven by tribes. Your family, your school, your profession, your denomination. Your friends. Your tribe is quality. I wish I could join your tribe.'

" 'You can. You have.'

" 'Thanks. But I can only ever be an honorary member, which, I will remain honored to be for the rest of my life. Closer to home, though, stick tight with the tribe you have. Look out for one another. If you ever can't count on your tribe, on the people who are supposed to be there for you, if they, in fact, turn out to be your problem, then you are well and truly wasted, my young friend.' "

There are glimpses of a nun or two, along with a mother calling from inside a house. But otherwise there are no females in sight. This is a harsh and unforgiving story of male relationships that has me reminiscing about the tribes of my own adolescence, those guys who played such pivotal roles in making me the guy I am today.

Richie Partington

http://richiespicks.com

BudNotBuddy@aol.com