We were driving home on Sunday from getting haircuts for me, Gabe, and Trevor. I ran my hand over my much lighter head, then rubbed my chin and said, “All I need to do is trim my beard, and I’ll be a new man!”
Jodi looked sideways at me and suggested that she, for one, could use a new man, and that my whiskers weren’t close to the first thing she’d change. We went back and forth a moment: I, lamenting the cruelty of my beloved; she, enumerating my shortcomings…until Gabe interjected: “You shouldn’t do that, Mom.”
“Gabe!” she protested. “You’re sticking up for HIM!?”
“The Ninth Commandment,” he said matter-of-factly. “‘You shall not covet” — he pronounced it “COVE-it” — “thy neighbor’s wife.'”
“Covet,” I corrected, laughing. “And how does that apply in this case, Gabe? I don’t think she wants someone else’s husband; she wants a different me.”
“Lust makes you…” He stopped for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully with the younger kids in the car. “Lust makes you want something different than what you have.”
Jodi and I looked at each other. I raised an eyebrow.
An aspiring priest’s first homily…