Father Roberto Omana

 I have three delightful photographs for your viewing pleasure this evening. Enjoy or don't, it's on you going forward.

This is a photo of my dad, Carlos Casas, 2nd from the right hanging out with some of his cronies. Yeah, that one dude is The Man from U.N.C.L.E. Like I said before, you never knew who Chuck was going to show up with. The priest is Father Roberto Omana, one of my parents best friends. He was constantly at our house or we were at his house or my parents were helping plan and put on his yearly "Father's Fiesta" for the church he oversaw. Notice also, all the way to the left, there's a mariachi. I told you, if the Casas family was involved, there were mariachis involved. It's how we roll. 

Anyway, this picture makes me happy remembering all the great times with Father Roberto. He was from Mexico and had a wonderfully thick accent. I loved listening to him speak with my parents. Most of the time it was in Spanish, when they didn't want us kids to know the lowdown. Father Roberto lived what he believed. He loved people and gave his life for the good of those around him. I loved him because he was truly good and didn't know it. 

One of my favorite memories with him, and there are many, was going to his house with my mother and sister Kelly. Father Roberto and our mom were going to work through some of the plans for the upcoming Fiesta. As the two adults were pre-occupied with what we saw as boring, Kelly and I did what we always did at Father's house. We cleaned and played house. This might seem strange for two little girls to be excited about cleaning a priests house, but Father Roberto was no ordinary guy. He let us do anything we wanted unlike our mother who wouldn't let us do anything at home because she had a "special" way of cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, etc. She just didn't trust us, truth be told, to do it the way she wanted it done. I'm not saying she was wrong. But at Father Roberto's, we washed dishes, and mopped the floors, scrubbed the bathroom, polished furniture. Actually, we moved furniture a few times as well. And every time, when it was time to go, Father would make a huge deal out of how beautiful the house looked and how wonderful we were, even if neither of those things were quite true. He would hug and kiss us with slobbery uncle kisses, flowing in and out of Spanish to English and back again. Then, out of nowhere, he'd present us with candy or stuffed animals, or some other amazing trinket of gratitude that was most likely meant for the Fiesta. 

My parents knew Father Roberto for many years, including before I was born. I have photos of my mother and grandfather in Mexico with the Omana family and also at an Omana wedding. He was such a big part of our lives until the mid 70's. I was engaged in 1975 and wanted Father Roberto to marry us the following year. My father wouldn't hear of it and I was furious. They had a falling out unbeknownst to me at the time and my dad ended the friendship. It was stupid and I didn't speak to my dad for a long time over it. I often think of Father and imagine he has gone to heaven by now. I know he and my dad are friends, once again. I can live with that.

This is my Aunt Helen, my cousin Evelyn aka Sister Mary Miriam and my mother, Bernice 

My grandfather Pedro Casas, cousin Sister Mary Miriam and grandmother Asunción Prieto Casas

So, I spent my life surrounded by priests and nuns and Catholic school and then there was Sister Mary Bernice, lurking around every corner. In the words of my sister Kelly, "Marla, how did you turn out the way you are?" 

It's a mystery.