Rosemary Dato was a whirlwind of activity. She existed in a perpetual state of motion, always doing something. She was five feet tall, weighed one hundred five pounds on the outside, and had enough energy for twelve people.  Mrs. Dato had a New York accent that rose an octave when she was irritated about something. If she was irritated at her husband, it rose two octaves and came out right through her nose as she yelled, “ALLAN!” Her short blond hair and inability to sit still made her appear half of her fifty years.

            This woman was annoyingly healthy. She ran three miles a day, every day, rain or shine, summer or winter. Actually Molly, her hyperactive border collie, dragged her three miles a day. Mrs. Dato survived on a diet of celery sticks, tofu, and avocado. Her big treat was vanilla ice cream (low-fat I’m sure). She made Mr. Dato eat all this stuff, and he did it willingly. However-and I’m still not sure if she ever knew this-he kept stashes of potato chips around the house to eat after she went to bed.

            I distinctly remember one time we were headed to a youth function somewhere. Mr. Dato was driving the church van and Mrs. Dato was riding in the passenger’s seat. About halfway through the ride, Mrs. Dato fell asleep. Mr. Dato looked back at us kids as if to say, “Don’t say a word.” He then reached behind the driver’s seat and pulled out a bag of potato chips. He opened the bag, took one out, and crunched down.

            Mrs. Dato was awake the second her husband’s teeth made contact with that potato chip. “ALLAN!” She yelled. All the kids in the van were in tears; we were laughing so hard. From then on, if we were going somewhere and Mrs. Dato couldn’t ride with Mr. Dato, she’d grab the radios we used to communicate with the other vans: “Who has Allan? What’s he eating?”

            I’ll never forget the first time I met Mrs. Dato. It was at our church youth group’s kickoff night when I was in seventh grade. I was, as usual, standing off to the side. I wasn’t exactly a happy camper back then. I had always been more mature than my peers, and had virtually no friends my own age. This had earned me more than my fair share of teasing during my elementary school years, and I had internalized that and convinced myself that I was a worthless, repulsive human being. I smothered my desire to be outgoing and forced myself to become the quiet one nobody noticed. After all, if I just kept my mouth shut and never did anything I couldn’t be hurt again, right?

            However, Mrs. Dato wasn’t going to let that slide. As I stayed off to the side conducting an in-depth study of my soda cup, she walked up to me and just started talking. I don’t even remember what our conversation was about, just that we laughed a lot and it lasted a good forty-five minutes. I left the church that night thinking, “I’m going to like her.”

            I was right. There was no kid in the group who didn’t like Mrs. Dato, but she and I had a special bond. I never discussed my self-image problems with her (or anyone, for that matter), but I think she was aware of them anyway. Even though she never told me this, I think she started working on a way to help me get past them.

            I really hated doing kitchen work at the youth brunches we’d have to raise money for our summer Mission Trips. I was much happier standing by the buffet-like tables we set up, serving people their bacon and eggs. There was much less opportunity to mess up there than in the kitchen with sharp knives, hot ovens, and people running in and out.

            But no, Mrs. Dato wasn’t just going to let me stand at the table and say, “you want home fries with that?” She immediately signed me up for kitchen duty. Oh, I was angry! Didn’t she know I was just going to gum up the works? I’d drop our last piece of ham on the floor, spill bacon fat on someone, or trip and fall face-first on the griddle. I couldn’t do this!

            Ah, but I could. Sure, I hated every second of it, but I survived and none of the “aforementioned” catastrophes took place. Later on I realized that I didn’t have to like the job, I just had to do it as best I could. And “as best I could” was way better than I thought I could be.

            Every year, Mrs. Dato asked me to teach Vacation Bible School. When I’d try to weasel out of it, she’d say, “But Mrs. Houston needs a helper for the fourth grade class…” and I’d fold up like a cheap two-dollar suitcase. Mrs. Dato knew the real reason I tried to avoid teaching VBS was not that I was busy (which I was) or even that I didn’t want to (which was true) but that I believed myself to be inept. She always saw me as more capable than I saw myself.

            There was one time Mrs. Dato and I were talking and I told her I felt I was being called to youth ministry. She said. “I think so too, Christina. But let me warn you: it’s a lifetime commitment. Mr. Dato and I wanted to stop this when our children got out of high school. But God will keep thinking of new ways to keep you involved.” Then she laughed and said. “I’m going to be a youth leader until the day I die.”

            She was. On October 17th, 2002, Mrs. Dato was LifeFlighted to Boston University Medical Center after a brain aneurysm burst. She lived in a coma for ten days and then died.

            Mrs. Dato taught me so much in the three years I knew her. She packed more living into her fifty years than most people do into eighty. If she hadn’t started talking to me on that kickoff night, I’d probably still go unnoticed at youth group. Instead I am very involved. Last year I became a student leader (at Mrs. Dato’s request) and I sang on the praise team for a while. I was right that if I stayed on the sidelines I couldn’t get hurt, but Mrs. Dato helped me see that if I never jumped in I’d miss out on so much in life. But she taught me the best lesson indirectly, in her death: I must always be ready to meet Jesus, because I can meet him at any moment.

DEDICATION

ROSEMARY LYNN DATO

FEBRUARY 22 1952 – OCTOBER 27 2002