… The Boy has been altar serving two years now. Two years; it’s hard to believe how quickly it all flies by. Last night he learned he got a promotion of sorts. He is no longer the lowly torch bearer. That position is for the newbies. No, now he is training for the position of cross bearer/ book bearer/ bell ringer.
Upon hearing the news of his advancement, The Boy declared “Huzzah! I leveled up!”.
This from the child that kicked, wailed, and screamed when I made him start serving. I was the meanest mom ever for an entire year as I forced him into stuffy clothes to sweat under a hot, itchy collard cassock. And the shoes! Oh, the humanity! The dress shoes! When they were new and not broken in he squeaked from one end of the altar to the next. It was mortifying and I was a horrible horrible mother who hated her son for making him endure these humiliations.
Such were his histrionics that he had me actually questioning whether I was doing the right thing. No one wants to make their kid loathe church.
But really… what’s a bi-weekly altar serving obligation when compared to the time and energy he invests in other activities like scouting and baseball? Three hours a month to serve at the altar of our Lord v. 40 hours a month playing baseball and scouting. When I put it like that he felt like a schmuck and stopped fighting me.
Catholic guilt for the win.
But you see, it had a happy ending. It was worth the struggle to stand my ground. Two years later and he’s super excited to be advancing the ranks. Even more exciting is the next level, that of thurible whirler, which involves every boy’s favorite thing, SMOKE AND FIRE.
In related news: Catholic Nerdom, you’re doing it wrong. Go home, Germany. You’re drunk. Priest celebrates first communion with lightsaber Star Wars mass.