Father Phil

I was a grad student at the University of Haiti and taught four hours a day at the Haitian-American Institute. It was the last night of my last exams. I had just finished the last one and was walking home when I crossed the gates of the institute as Ms. Eleanor Snare, the director, was driving out.

She stopped, and I told her that I had just finished my last exam. She invited me to dinner at a new bistro. I accepted. There was entertainment — Haitian folkloric-style. I don’t remember what I ate. During exam times I ate a lot of fish- for my brain. I am pretty sure I did not order fish since exams were over. I was sick of fish!

A priest happened along and recognized Ms. Snare. She invited him to sit with us. His name was Father Phil. I don’t remember his last name, but it was Irish. He was in Port-au-Prince to meet and greet Mother Teresa, due in town the next day.

I told him I had a cousin named Father Phil. Philip James Treanor, who worked at Covenant House in New York. We liked each other.

He talked about the greeting party for Mother Teresa and that Ms. Snare was going to be there. He wondered if I could also go. She demurred. I had classes to teach. It was OK. I was not going to push it. I had gotten through my exams. I wanted to go, but, whatever. She was not going to release me from my classes for this. It was OK.

The next afternoon, after Mother Teresa had landed, some visitors were in the teachers’ room. They all had floral leis or necklaces. They all had been at the airport to greet Mother Teresa. I met them between classes.

I did not get to see Mother Teresa. It was OK.

I think it meant more to me that Father Phil thought I should than that I actually did not.

It felt as if he was a surrogate for my Father Phil — my cousin. He thought I should be there.