We had a grace-filled morning as my 7 year old daughter made her first confession. She is a very pure and also a very scrupulous soul (as I think most oldest daughters are!), so we’ve long been looking forward to the day when she could experience the lightness and joy of absolution.
After morning Mass, a bouquet of roses, and breakfast together at an upscale bagel shop, we made our way into the city to meet our beloved priest and confessor. Our parish is in the ‘hood where we made the mistake of living for 4 months when we first moved here. It’s not bad on a sunny May morning; there are hints of better days when the now-dilapidated mansions housed city dignitaries. But the morning also hints of last night’s unsavory rollicks.
We all piled out of our swagger wagon, and I went into red alert keeping kids at arms-length as honking cars whizzed by. Joyful anticipation of my daughter’s sacrament plus mother hen anxiety had me more than occupied. So when my 5 year old son said, “Hey Mom, look what I found, I’m going to give myself a shot”, I didn’t notice at first.
A few moments later, I looked down to find him handling a dirty syringe that he had picked up off the street.
“Drop that now!”, and he did, then came half a bottle of Purell. No damage was done, but my husband joked that maybe our son should make his own first confession sooner rather than later, to get his spiritual affairs in order before it’s too late. Little boys!