Patti-kin Visits the Vati-kin

Happy Tuesday, Dear Friend!

Certainly, you know the world has a new pope—and an American one at that! Were you around back in 1978 when the world’s first Polish pope was elected? Thereupon, an expression similar in meaning to “Does a bear [move its bowels] in the woods?” became popular. It was, “Is the pope Polish?”

I don’t know what it is because I’m not even Catholic, but I love seeing the pope. Is it because I have an affinity for old folks? Is it because I always had a great relationship with my own dad? Is it because the pope always seems… nice? I mean, he’s always peaceful-looking and usually smiling, waving to the crowds. He loves God and wants to help people. Who couldn’t love a guy like that?

You know, I “met” one of the popes once. OK, “met” is a stretch—but I was in the same room as one! The Polish pope! Pope John Paul II. How did that happen, you ask? Please—allow me.

In the summer of 2003, my husband had to be in Germany for work. Lo and behold, the kids and I got to travel with him. Not only that, but Kevin’s business partner, his wife, and his family also went. To add to this mix, another of their partners, along with her niece, went as well—12 of us altogether—five adults and seven children.

I have to tell you about our flight there. At the time, Teddy, our youngest, was nine years old. Sean, our middle child, was 13. Our friends also had two boys, close to the same ages as ours. I’m telling you all this because I want you to see how many boys we were wrangling. For this reason, I bought some new toys and games for the kids to play on the long flight over. It just so happened that the two youngest boys in this crowd were big into action figures. I can’t remember exactly which action figures I bought, but they came with various accessories. And by accessories, I mean little plastic weapons.

The kids got settled into their middle row seats. All the passengers were doing the same, stowing their bags, getting out pillows, blankets, books, etc. I handed each of the younger boys a new, still-packaged action figure, and they quickly tore them open. They were very excited to get these action heroes and anxious to begin a battle on the plane. They were making a mess, and I wanted to pick up the packaging before I took my seat. They hadn’t gotten all the figures’ accompanying swords and such out of the packages yet, though, so I shouted across the row of kids, “Guys! Take out your weapons!”

Silence ensued as all heads on the plane snapped around to look at me. Who was this woman leading a charge to take up arms on this airplane? She looks fairly wimpy and innocent, yet she’s yelling about taking out our weapons!

It’s never a good thing to encourage the use of weaponry while on an airplane.

I had noticed a young man wearing military fatigues a few rows ahead of us. He turned around to see me standing there, as it dawned on me what I had just said, and I was mortified by it. He saw my mortification and smiled. “Nice one, Mom,” he said. Fortunately, I was not removed from the plane.

OK, let’s get to the pope part! Our group had a lovely time in Germany, spent some time in Switzerland, and ended our time together in Rome.

We managed to get tickets for our group to attend a General Audience with the pope! (This was thanks to Kevin’s business partner, I’ll call Jane. She’s not intimidated by anyone. She marched right up to the Swiss Guard at the “Bronze Door” the day before, took a notebook out of her purse, pointed at it, and said, “Appointment! Appointment!” She looked so sure of herself that they stepped back and let her through. She emerged a few minutes later with 12 tickets in her hand.)

We sat in a vast room with people from many different countries. In looking at my scrapbook from that day, I have written, “I may not be Catholic, but it was still breathtaking when the pope was wheeled onto the stage!” (This would have been two years before Pope John Paul II’s death, so he was 83.)

He spoke in several languages, and after many of these greetings, groups in the audience from these countries would stand up and sing a song in their native language. Several bride/groom couples went forward to receive a blessing.

The most exciting part of our trip to the Vatican came right after that ceremony. As we left the huge room and stepped into the huge lobby (everything is huge in this tiny “country”), some of us decided a trip to the restroom was in order. Kevin took Teddy to the men’s room while I visited the ladies’ room. We were all to meet back up in the lobby.

After concluding my visit to said privy, I took up my spot in the lobby where we were to meet. One by one, we all emerged, but we were missing one . . .

. . . little Teddy.

Kevin and I did the “I thought he was with you!” thing. He returned to the men’s room and said, “Teddy?”

“Yeah, Dad?” came his reply. He was locked into one of the stalls. If you’ve been to Europe, you know stalls are generally completely enclosed in public restrooms. There’s no crawling under or over. When you’re in, you’re entirely in. Well, Teddy had somehow gotten locked completely in a stall. Kevin couldn’t open the door from the outside, and Teddy couldn’t unlock it from the inside.

Another man remarked, “There’s a woman in there!” thinking Teddy’s child’s voice was coming from a woman. Kevin assured him it was his son.

In the meantime, I’m pacing a hole right into the floor of the lobby of the audience hall. Next, I see a security guard walking quickly to the men’s room with a screwdriver in his hand.

What on God’s green earth??

More pacing. More wringing of hands (and gnashing of teeth).

Finally, what seemed like four days later, Kevin and Teddy came forth from the men’s room. My son had been freed from the grip of the Vatican bathroom! We all let out a collective sigh of relief.

So, there you have it—my pope story! I’m sorry it ended up in the toilet.

Perhaps in this world of war and crime, hunger and poverty, cruelty and hate, the pope is a visual representation of kindness and goodness. His peaceful nature and message of love feed our hungry souls. Maybe that’s why I like the pope so much.

This week, may you see more peace than war, more kindness than cruelty, and more hope than hatred.

Written with love – – – Patti XOXO