Mom’s sick today, so Robby and I are in the pew unsupervised, tussling over the Etch-A-Sketch. Behind the pulpit, Dad pauses, glares us quiet, then grins apologetically at his congregation. Everyone laughs. I sulk, make silent vows.
Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia. Alleluia.
Afterward, I race Robby to the cemetery and up the sycamore, where we play Zacchaeus. Not today, though. When I push, Robby lands tailbone-first, but he’s able to limp off to tattle. I’d harbored darker hopes.
When Dad comes asking, I’ll answer, “You’re why.” But I won’t climb down. Not ever. Branch by branch, I’ll keep rising.
Photo Credit: Doug McAbee
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