Sunday school.
I sit in the car in front of the building - a small consolation to my son inside.
I'm here every Sunday, or at least every Sunday that we do this. In the beginning I sat just outside the classroom, but I graduated to waiting in the car after a few weeks.I promised that I would do this for as long as he needed me to.
Sometimes the best way to deal with anxiety is to cater to it's whims.
Today it's cold and in deference to my hybrid car's rapidly depleting battery, I've turned the heat off. It's hard, but not impossible to write with cold hands.
Usually it's just me, and maybe one other parent waiting in our cars on this otherwise deserted street on Sunday morning. But today there are more people about.
In front of the church, sprinkling salt on the steps is a man... but then I think he must actually be a boy because of the way he works.
It's just that... it isn't working that he's doing.
He's clearly playing.
Kicking the snow with his feet
examining chunks of ice
spreading salt in great sweeping handfuls first tossed high
and then slow trailing arcs across the stairs.
He doesn't have a shovel so instead he uses his feet to push the snow aside.
Third step up, then the eighth, then back down to four - he clears the steps with his sneakered foot.
There is no pattern to his actions except that he is obviously having fun - even if there is no smile on his face.
The fifth step from the bottom is REALLY clean, but he never touched the first two steps. It will be hard for the old ladies to make their way up to partake of the Glory of God today.
And now he's gone - the salt bucket empty.
Last night all three of us went to church - a rare occasion, but one which makes my son happy. And on the way home we talked about the things that make the Catholic Church what it is.
Adherence to old traditions...the Pope....
My religiousness is rusty in spite of (or perhaps because of?) eleven years of religious education. These conversations are tricky for me because of my complicated relationship with the Church and the unfortunate fact that I disagree with... well, let's just say that the Church often makes me disagreeable.
Sorry Sister Mary Constance.
I'm trying to give my son the religion I was raised with, while trying to come to terms with it at the same time. Only time will tell how this will end. My ambivalence makes it harder for everyone.
The best part of waiting during Sunday school is the music. I sit in the silent car and listen to whatever music I want. One hour to play DJ for myself. I relish these moments of solitude and indulgence. Funny to think that waiting in a cold car every Sunday could be an indulgence... but hey.
I've got work to do. Writing to finish - things to polish up,
but I'm chafing at the "work" part of it - even though I imposed these deadlines myself. Sometimes I'm able to get a lot done here in the car, but it doesn't look like this will be one of those times.
So today I just sit
and listen
and watch
this snowy Sunday street
and wait.









