Roby’s getting baptized tomorrow. 
I don’t remember my own baptism, though I know that it was done in a church with Mussolini on the ceiling. The same church where my mom was baptized, where my grandparents were married, where my parents were married. 
There’s mostly early church fathers and saints up on the walls of Saint Jacobs, not that that’s coming from a place of judgment. I love that church in Montreal. It’s a nice place, I bet it’d be nicer if I were Catholic and if I spoke Italian. But it’s nice enough with neither of those things.

We’ve had two people we know visit our church: our friend Fiona and Abby’s mom. Tomorrow it’ll be my mom, dad, sister, future brother-in-law, Jack, Elena, and John. A real smorgasbord of folks we care an awful lot about. 

It’s not a huge number of people, but it’s the greatest hits, that’s for sure. It makes me nervous. Saint Jacob’s isn’t much like any church I’ve been to, and I’m fairly sure it isn’t like any church any of them have been to either. Maybe that’ll make them like it more, but I think either way, it’ll make some of them kind of uncomfortable. 

I mean, it probably would’a made me a little bit uncomfortable not that long ago. Well, longer ago now than it used to be. 

But now it’s a real treasure, a real good thing, a real moment towards the beginning of Roby’s life. And unlike catholics, she’ll be able to take communion right away. The real question is wether or not she’ll take a bite of food from someone who isn’t mom or dad, and if she’ll do it on demand. 

I don’t think she will. 

But some day soon she will.