After a late night (or early morning, depending on whether you classify yourself pessimist or optimist -- and then there's the argument of which is which), I skipped out on the Baptist service and slept until it was time to drag myself to noon Mass.
At my parents' house afterward, I was frying up a couple of eggs when Dad came into the kitchen.
"Hiya, heathen!" he greeted me.
I flipped the eggs and said, "Oh, I went to church."
"Burn you at the stake," he told me, grinning.
I reached for a plate. "Ummmm....that would be you," I said.
And then we laughed. Which means that the rift begun a year ago has begun to close.
It's good.
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