I was raised Catholic. While I attend a different church these days, the guilt still comes in handy and seems to be remarkably effective when raising children.
The other night when we had company, my little son had been a bit squirrely. Later, he and I had a discussion about it. He’d found his sister’s ring—a little gumball machine gift from a Mexican restaurant—and was sitting in my lap engrossed in the image on the ring’s plastic face.
“I see Jesus!” said Tiny Man.
“Yes, that is Jesus. Jesus sees you!” I said.
“Jesus sees me?” he gasped.
“Yes, he sees everything you do and saw you at the dinner table.”
“Dear God,” began little Tiny with his eyes closed and head bowed, “I will be good at dinner and a good boy in school. Aaaaaamen!”
Amen to that!