"Are you a real priest?"

I was back in Fernandina Beach for Aunt Kathleen’s funeral several weeks ago.  My sons and Keen’s other great-nephews were her pall bearers.  After they carried her casket up the long flight of stairs at the entrance of Memorial Methodist Church a couple of hours before the funeral was to begin, I invited them to walk downtown to get a cup of coffee.  They stood out from the crowd, dressed in their blazers or suits, especially compared to everyone else dressed in Florida casual style.  I didn’t consider how I stood out, dressed in clerics.  

The barista stared at me when I said, “I’ll get the coffee for everyone here who is wearing a tie.” 

“Are you a real priest,” she asked me?  “This isn’t for a movie or anything?”  I assured her that I am that this was not.  Her astonished response to my assurance that I am a priest and this was not a movie flabbergasted me.  “I’ve never seen a real priest before.  And I am Catholic!”