LEAN! and a Reveal

I was raised a Catholic and we went to church, unfailingly, every Sunday.  Since there were a lot of us, the logistics weren't always easy, but generally, the boys were dropped off early at the back of the church where we were expected to proceed to the altar boys' sacristy to get duded out for mass.  The boys' sacristy was a locker room of sorts with benches, a table to put your stuff and plenty of floor space for the wrestling and general mayhem that altar boys caused.  It also doubled as some additional storage space for the Altar Rosary Society so it wasn't unusual to share space with the Baby Jesus, a few pilgrims and a cornucopia, and various and sundry funeral arrangement leftovers that might be re-usable. Believe it or not, the boys' sacristy was thought to be a neat place by all of the guys at school, almost a clubhouse, and besides, almost nothing illegal took place down there.

The girls, whose preparation time was mysteriously agreed without comment to be much more than the boys' requirement were then picked up and brought to church.  I don't really remember any conflict arising on Sunday mornings as we all crammed into the Plymouth, although I'm certain that there must have been some.

Fast forward about about 35-40 years to the time when Liz and I, following the traditions of both of our familys, are dutifully taking our children to church every Sunday.  This is evidence of our faith in family traditions more than that of our faith in any divine intevention that would make our children behave.  So, let's stop here a minute and talk about adolescent, pre-adolescent, and (apparently) adult behavior.  I don't have any idea about your children, but my children quickly grasped the rules of the parent/child game.  And they set out with a determination to beat their parents at this game--resoundingly.  Of course, the little bastards could've applied this sort of energy to dioramas instead, and have made their parents happier. 

Our children would, unfailingly every Sunday, find some method on the way to or from church (about a 15 minute drive) for disrupting the family's peace and tranquility.  This usually involved an escalating cycle of pokes, prods, whines, slaps, screams, etc. etc. etc. My personal tolerance level for this kind of behavior is shockingly low.  So I would respond in the family psychology version of this Mutually Assured Destruction game, with an ever-escalating series of threats, promises, pleas, and violent-sounding but ultimately meaningless words spewing from my mouth which by now, to the delight of the little bastards, was invariably dribbling spittle (in other words, I was literally foaming at the mouth!).  

It was at this point that the ultimate threat of any father was brought to bear--roll out the big guns:

"I'm pulling this car over!" 

Not a question. Not a threat. A promise.  And, for me, that promise carried the joyous possibility of physical violence accompanied by the wailing and gnashing of teeth in which I expected to be revelling very soon.

But the counter-strategy employed by the little bastards was equally devillish!  Where before there had been a chaos of whining, crying, and protestations of innocence, there was now a single purpose, a single mind among the three of them.  Matt, the largest, would grab the door handle, Katie would grab Matt, and Megan would grab Katie.  And they would pull with all their might to keep the door closed.

"LEAN!"  "LEAN!" "LEAN!" the coxswain would call, and lean they did. 

By this point, of course, Liz was a complete waste...downed and put completely out of action by the most insidious weapon a child can unleash on its parent--paroxysms of laughter.  And then I would see the smiles on all three faces.  Delighting in their game.  Delighting that  they had succeeded in their game to make me so angry that I would jump out of the car on a main thoroughfare and make a total fool of myself, and I would break up too.  The rest of the trip--either home or to church--was taken as a family who delighted in the smiles and happiness of each of the others.  I don't recall there ever being a second battle in these little wars...at least not until the following week.

And I will now reveal the great secret to my children: Your Mom and I won the game--we won it every week.  You just didn't understand what the game was until it was too late, so you had no chance and for that we offer no apologies.  You see, having you "lean" together was our real goal.  It was through this and other family routines and rituals that you came together irrevocably as a family.  We have always felt that no adversity can overcome a family that leans in the same direction.  Prove us right.