The Biggest Day of My Young Life

Three weeks after I was born, I was born again. No, really! Born again, "not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God." (John 1:13) On the anniversary of the death of our beloved Pope John Paul II (I heard this from my parents - my lifespan is in the Benedictine Era), a holy man in purple robes spread oil on my forehead and poured copious quantities of cold water on me for good measure. I wasn't bothered . . . much. A man with the same name as me - he's much bigger than me, so nobody got us mixed up - was there as well, and stayed around our place for a couple of days. His technical title is "Godfather," I'm told.