Dâng Hoa

"Little girl, come!"
I saw a hand motioned to me and so I followed.
A group of little girls held a basket of rose petals.

I felt hands lay a similar basket around my neck.
We walked right behind Mary.
At the pause between every decade of the Rosary, the petals flew high in the air and shimmered in the evening light.

I was mesmerized.
My seven-year-old mind wondered at the extravagance of roses strewn profusely.
I stood proudly in the last row, my height reserving me the last spot.

American Catholics have their May Crowning.
Hispanic Catholics have their Our Lady of Guadalupe dancing procession.
Vietnamese Catholics have our Dâng Hoa.

Sometimes rose petals are strewn.
Sometimes a whole dance is choreographed to a Marian hymn.
Always the most beautiful blooms are used.

It was May 13th.
The anniversary of the apparition of Mary at Fatima.
A hand motioned to me.

My heart beat at a chance of throwing those rose petals high in the air.
A voice whispered to that hand.
"She's clumsy in the elbows."

Our parish was huge.
Many girls had graceful elbows and well-shaped hands.
Dâng Hoa was not to be a part of my life.

It's May 13th again.
I stood in front of Mary.
There were no baskets or rose petals.

I laid a small flower at her feet.
You won't be able to see it if you were to look for it.
Look into the eyes of the youth I am called to serve.

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