Bravest Thing (He Ever Did)

I do not write to stir up the SSPX/FSSP debate. Nor do I write to raise allegations and threats concerning being  in communion ,  schismatic , or  a   loyal son of the Church . I find doing so tiresome. If a person cannot recognize the Church is in a crisis; if a person thinks it spiritually superior to attend a polka Mass (they still exist, I assure you) over an SSPX Mass; if the mention of Archbishop Lefebvre angers a person more than the deeds of  James Martin  or the writings of  Cardinal Fernandez ; heaven help this person. Lord knows I can’t. If one “gets” what I’m saying, read on. If not, I suggest  this book  instead. It happened this past summer. My wife and I were planning our usual family pilgrimage to the Canadian Rockies. Climbing mountains while carrying a kid or two, eating rehydrated chili and peanut butter wraps, all while living like dirtbags in a tent, is the closest experience to heaven I know. Moments to live for. All except for one minor detail. “So,” my wif

  After a leave from teaching this fall, I returned to work, taking up my customary position as the feared dictator of a grade-five classroom. The physical space is tight this year. Twenty-eight students are crammed so close together…when I have an EA helping, she doesn’t even have a place to sit. Yes, my classroom “needs to be at least three times as big.” So, discipline is a must.   The first day I was so busy laying down the law and making threats, that I didn’t have time to teach. For as Machiavelli wisely states, “it’s better to be feared than loved.” But on the second day, it was time to get busy.   “Silent reading time!” I barked. “And I mean   silent !”   “Aww! Do we   have   to?” echoed a chorus of shrill voices akin to being stoned to death with popcorn.   “Yes!”   “Mr. Millette!” came a challenging voice from the back, “I think I need glasses?”   “Why!?!”   “Because I can’t see any muscles on you!”   Very feared.   That first silent reading session lasted not even five minut