Daydreaming

So, there I was in church yesterday, the pastor striving mightily to make a theological point that could save my immortal soul.  Did he succeed?  I have no idea, which is an answer in itself, though.

Should St. Peter ever ask, I will admit to daydreaming during that homily on that Sunday in that January of that year.  I was thinking of my daughter, a proud graduate of St. Bernardine School who will even now critique the performance of the altar servers at Mass; she belonged to their ranks for four years, you know, and was even called out of the congregation once to serve during high school.  But I was thinking more of Clare on the playground.

How she loved to throw a football with the boys, why, I haven’t a clue.  We never played catch with one at home, and she was never much of a TV football fan.  But if boys were doing it, that was a challenge Clare couldn’t pass up.  She even bugged the principal to start a flag-football team or two.  Possibly out of concern for the boys, he said No.

And so it goes on a Sunday morning in January, not too cold, sunlight pouring in through the stain-glass windows, this one a gift of the Class of 1940….