Good Friday

Today, the Boy could hardly wait to get back out to his tractor, and just as we were heading out to spend some time working on the driveway, N, E’s dearest friend in the neighborhood, came over with his mother and brother. Like a true gentleman, E let N have a turn on the tractor first as he sped around on his four-wheeled bike that he’s virtually worn out now. They chased each other, bumped each other, and had a generally grand time.

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But when it was time to switch, the Boy was all smiles.

Later, after N left, the Boy did his best police car imitation, squealing for the siren and blinking his eyes to simulate flashing lights, as he chased down speeder after speeder. Well, it was just T, his more-or-less-biggest-sister-though-not-technically-related.

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Again and again he caught her, gave her a ticket, then was thrilled to find that she was speeding again. In fact, in instructed her to speed again. Entrapment?

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Afterward, we did the yearly egg painting, though with a few changes. Fewer people, fewer materials, but all the same in every other sense.

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But it being Good Friday, everything was geared toward going to the church for Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion. It’s unlike anything else done in the Catholic Church. It’s not a Mass, but it somehow has much more solemnity than a normal Mass.

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This year, as last year, the Polish community shared, with the pastor’s blessing, the tradition of creating a tomb for Jesus. In Poland, individuals — firefighters, policemen, and others — stand guard in full regalia until the vigil service on Holy Saturday. Here, it being an ironically new tradition, there’s just the tomb.

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“Perhaps next year,” a Polish friend suggested, punching me in the shoulder. Perhaps.

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