Nonno eating? Nonno Praying? Nonno Loving? Nonno sleeping.

My parents' downstairs air conditioner broke last week. During the night it wasn't a problem because they simply moved to an upstairs bedroom, but during the few days it took to order a new unit their waking hours were spent anywhere but at home.

They visited my sister in Columbia, they went to the mall, and one weekday afternoon they decided to go see a movie.

Before I continue, here's what you should know about my father: he watches the news, Jeopardy, and any movie with John Wayne in it. That's it. If anyone happens to be watching anything else, my Dad sees that as an opportune time to take a nap.

So, imagine my grin when my mom announced they were going to see Eat, Pray, Love.

Oh, this was going to be good. My father watching Julia Roberts eat her way through Italy, pray in India, and fall in love in Bali.

Imagine that . . . Nonno at a chick flick. Even just thinking about it sent me into gales of laughter. When I called my husband with this earth-shattering news, and after he asked, What's Eat, Pray, Love? he said, At least it will be cool in the theater so he can take a nap.

See what I mean? My Dad is very predictable.

So, what did you think of the movie? I asked my Dad the following evening.

What do you think? he responded, trying to sound grumpy while grinning at the same time.

Which, in my opinion, is a very evasive answer.

So here's what I think: deep down in the recesses of his John Wayne heart . . . he secretly enjoyed it (at least those parts during which he was awake).

911 Emergency

I never thought I would have to dial 911, but yesterday I did. It wasn't because of a car accident, or an illness, or a robbery.

I called because of a young boy I saw walking along the railroad tracks on a very busy Riverwatch Parkway.

A boy who should have been in school.

A boy who was (maybe) ten years old.

A boy who was all alone.

I pulled over.

Son, I called. Did you miss your bus? Shouldn't you be in school?

He looked at me, frowning.

No, he replied. I was suspended.

As he continued walking, here's what I thought: Suspended? The boy is ten years old! Suspended? This is only the third week of school! Suspended? He still shouldn't be wandering around unsupervised.

So, I called 911. They took the boy's description, the direction he was headed, and said they'd send a car to look for him.

There is a saying, Give me a child for the first seven years, and I will give you a man . . . and I couldn't help wondering what happened in this boy's first seven years that, by the age of ten, he is suspended from school and walking along a railroad track.

I wish, for him, someone had called 911 years ago.

$8.08

... purchased at the new Goodwill store in town.

Extraordinarily Ordinary

Once upon a time ...
there was a king! my young readers would say.
But no, my dear children, you are mistaken.
Once upon a time there was a piece of wood.

~introduction to Carlo Collodi's Pinocchio

Today was the kind of day that you try to imagine life as someone other than who you are.

To be sure, I wasn't sad or nostalgic. I wasn't complaining or lamenting my lot. It's just that every once in a while I get the feeling that I need to burst out of my roles as mother and wife and ... play the cello, or create an oil painting, or sing the lead in a musical.

Except, I don't know how to do any of those things although, amazingly, in my heart I somehow feel as if I could.

Sometimes I will imagine in my mind a small church nestled in the woods, or a city on a rainy afternoon, or the mist hanging low over a lake -- images that I know would look beautiful on canvas.

But when I try to capture the image by sketching it in pencil, it comes out looking amateurish; the image in my mind evaporates and I feel empty.

Sometimes I am presented a wonderful opportunity -- a risk, to be sure, but also an adventure -- but one that requires more courage than I have.

Like when I was a junior in college, had an interview with the Peace Corp all lined up, but never went to it. Today, I can still imagine that appointment calendar with a big no show written in ink next to my name.

Do you ever feel that way? That, despite obvious shortcomings, you can be bigger or better than you are?

That within you is the potential to be extraordinary instead of ordinary?

That's how I felt today and, although I wasn't extraordinary in the least, I am not finished. I know that.

Like Geppetto's block of wood, I am a work in progress and extraordinary will come ... one day.

C'era una volta ...

--Un re! -- diranno subito i miei piccoli lettori.

No, ragazzi, avete sbagliato. C'era una volta un pezzo di legno.

~Le avventure di Pinocchio

Taking a Knee

Playing football at a Catholic High School means attending Mass right before the game. Football and Faith ... it works.

In a moment of weakness my husband and I decided to let our son play football. There are many things about football that I could complain about: the long practice sessions; the grass stains; the sickening sound of helmets clashing (it is, after all, my son's head under that helmet); the reality that it always rains when it is my turn to take him to practice; the fact that it disrupts our family dinner.

But I am surrounded by boys, and in order to relate to them I am learning to enter their world. I now know that "sacking" has to do with tackling and not a large bag; that when someone calls "hit it", pushups are required; and I know the difference between a lineman, a linebacker, and a wide receiver.

One evening after practice the coach gathered the kids around and told them to "take a knee". It was a beautiful thing to see, all these sweaty boys, bulked up with shoulder pads, kneeling on one knee as they respectfully listened to the coach. At a scrimmage the following evening, the whole team "took a knee" in silent prayer when there was an injured player on the field.

While praying is something we do often as a family, I now realize that my son is getting a new lesson on this theme from football. By "taking a knee" with his coaches and his teammates, he is learning that prayer can be incorporated into many areas of our lives. Prayer isn't just limited to church, or the dinner table, or our school, or family rosary night.

I love that my son is learning this. Kneeling is a very humble act. We kneel in adoration, in respect, in prayer, in times of need. It is an acknowledgement that we as human beings are indeed frail, and when we kneel, we surrender this weakness and yield to a higher authority, our God. I want my sons to learn to "take a knee" in life.

So now, instead of complaining about all the disruptions this football season has caused, I am thankful for lessons he's learning . . . lessons that reinforce what we try to teach him at home. And sometimes I get a glimpse, however brief, of the man he will one day grow up to be.

In Your Humble Opinion ...

A. WITHOUT TREE ...

B. WITH TREE ...

A Little Melancholy on a Rainy Evening

This evening I attended Back to School Night in which parents have the opportunity to go and meet their child's teacher.

As I was sitting at my son's desk, noticing how he organized his books and how his pencil was sharpened down to a nub because he (obviously) loves his handheld pencil sharpener, I became a little melancholy. One son in high school, one son in eighth grade, and one son (my baby) in first grade.

Then I remembered this letter I wrote almost three years ago.

That feeling never does go away, does it?

Dear Little One,

You know how Peter Pan felt when he lost his shadow? Well, that's how I feel today on this, your first day of preschool. For the past four years you have been my shadow, accompanying me everywhere: Bible Study, carpool, luncheons, weekday Mass, library.

The one constant of my days has been you at my side.

This morning I went to the grocery store and you weren't there to mix up my coupons or beg for a matchbox car. I didn't have to explain in two words ("morning snack") to the checkout lady when she asks why the potato chips, the fruit snacks, or the animal cookies were all open.

And now you're off on your own, experiencing exciting adventures, meeting new friends, learning new things, and discovering the beautiful world that is out there. You will have fun, of that I am sure.

But I will miss you.

It seems that once a mother gives birth, she then spends the rest of her life letting her baby go.

Mille Bacioni,
Mommy