A cross to bear…a phrase recently noted in the comments section of my blog. A cross to bear…those four words brought me back to a moment in time when I was a little blond headed girl in second grade at St. Gerald’s school. The nun called out my name and asked me to stay behind as the rest of my class went out to recess. Immediately, I was worried. Did she find the crumpled “F” paper in my desk that I refused to take home to my parents? Did she see me chewing gum in class again? Was it possible that she found the box of Valentine’s candy in my desk? I was certain. I was in trouble. As my classmates gleefully ran outside for recess, I lingered behind. Sister Mary Marcella Maria (this was her name, I swear) said to me, “My child, come here.” This was not the tone I expected, rather quite the opposite. “Debbie, your mother came to see me today. She told me that your parents are getting divorced.” In the mind of...
