Captain Kippah

Our recent trip to Arizona included a trip to my friend Kelley's workplace. Kelley is a rabbi, so we visit her shul (temple) whenever we're in Tucson. Ironically, I've spent more time in shul this year than I have in a church of my own family's faith.

I'm not big on religion, so we don't regularly attend any religious services, and I think Mark is suffering because of it.

I noticed this during Kelley's services. I grew up in the Catholic church, where healthy doses of reverence, respect and fear of God were regularly served up with the communion wafers and chalices of wine. We knew better than to act up during Mass; any breach in behavior was swiftly met by my mom's sharp nails digging into our tender arms. She could break skin and strong wills without missing a single word of the hymnal song.

The CCD teachers and nuns reinforced these lessons. We learned to respect the church leaders, and to sit in the pews silently, speaking or standing only when explicitly told to do so. I don't have any horror stories of nuns smacking us with rulers, but they got the message across loud and clear. We learned to be good God- and Mom-fearing Catholics who served our time without complaint each week.

But as I mentioned, Mark does not attend church, so he does not have that "fear of death" mentality when it comes to religious services or the service leaders. He thinks services are just another opportunity to misbehave, continually knocking the borrowed kippah (skullcap) off his head and complaining loudly that he's BORED. He does not fear priests, or even rabbis (maybe because the rabbi was tickling him and playing cards with him just before services).

Which means supporting Kelley turns into an agonizing battle of the wills, with Mark squirming around, and me hurling death threats at him through clenched teeth.

All this is a long way of saying that Mark didn't seem overly impressed with going to services. I would honestly say not one word of the sermon stuck in his head, even though it was written and delivered by his good friend Kelley.

But apparently, I was wrong. During dinner last night, I asked Mark what he did at camp, and he replied, "Played superhero."

"Sounds like fun!" I said. "How'd you play?"

"Well, actually, I was a Jewish superhero," he explained.

"Oh, really?" I asked. This was going to be good!

"Yep, a Jewish superhero," he repeated. "I dressed all up, and put on a cape. Then I wore a little hat on my head, like Kelley." I could tell he was bummed he hadn't brought the kippah he wore in services home with him.

For some reason, that just cracked me up. And reminded me to watch what I say and do, because even when Mark acts like he's not listening, he is.

And apparently, religious services are making an impression on him, whether he's attending them or not!