There’s something I haven’t thought about in a long time, 40 years ago I graduated from the eighth grade. There weren’t any caps or gowns, just us girls in dresses and the boys in suits. We wore long ribbons with our school and class year, pinned with special lapel pins. After a church ceremony where we received our little diplomas, there was a luncheon at the steak house and every graduate received this statuette.
I didn’t like the priest that gave this gift to me, and with good cause; he is one of the many priests who were tried and convicted of sexual abuse of young men and boys. As one of the readers in his church, I endured his verbal abuse and blatant sexism as well.
And yet I’ve kept this statue at my bedside all these years. Maybe I still believe in spite of the horrid giver. Now I’m rethinking this as a daily reminder; does it give me comfort and joy or is it toxic and a burden?
It’s a heavy load to contemplate over a tiny statue. I think I would miss it.
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