Holy smoke

It’s been a rather sentimental week for me, and not just because another Mother’s Day has passed without mine being on this Earth. She’s been gone nearly 17 years. I miss her every day, which is tough sometimes, but I can still think about her and laugh, which is comforting every time. Last Saturday, we went to a birthday party for my youngest great-nephew, Thomas. He’ll be a year old, making this his first trip around the sun. These days, first birthday parties also mark the first time a child gets to taste sugar. Tommy’s was no different. Actually, I think he liked it. A LOT! His face was equal parts joy and WTHeck is this wonderful stuff stuck between my fingers and how do I get some every single day?

We left before the blue and white sugar-high icing kicked in.

He’s such a beautiful boy and even walking now, sometimes wobbly like a little old man who squats down into a bundle of laughter. His innocent smile lights up a room, and he’s already the best-dressed kid I’ve ever seen. My middle sister and her husband are over-the-moon happy since this is their only grandchild on two legs. (Shout-out to their furry grandson, Otis, the giant Schnauzer who’s also known for a certain sartorial eloquence!)

I never had a birthday party like this as a child. When we were kids, sugar wasn’t as bad for you. Like tobacco. Or at least no one thought about it that way.

I know my mom, who also smoked Winston cigarettes until she was 43 and still wanted to light one up at 88, did not adhere to the “no sugar for a year” edict. Nor was she averse to dipping my pacifier into a smidgeon of whiskey coated in sugar when I was fussy. Sure, we may have experienced an immediate sugar high, but my sisters and I were very good sleepers.

And we turned out fine. Didn’t we? Mostly.

The older I get, the more I’m inclined to adopt my parents’ attitude of “live and let live,” accepting the possibility that things happen for a reason. Don’t worry about what you cannot change – which is pretty much everything in 2025.

A stroke of “serendipity,” as my oldest sister likes to say. There’s no such thing as a coincidence. Embrace the powerful unearthly force we do not yet quite understand. In time, clarity will come.

On the morning of May 8, as we often do on days ending in “y,” Rebecca and I were sitting at the kitchen table planning our day. (OK, it was noon.) Suddenly, Reb got an alert on her phone that had nothing to do with coupons at Costco.

“There’s white smoke!” she said, more than a little excited about something Roman Catholic because she’s a good Lutheran.

“Already?” I said in disbelief as a lapsed Catholic, not realizing it was the papal conclave’s second day since 133 elector cardinals had gathered in Vatican City to cast ballots for a new pope under a vow of secrecy.

Not the fastest conclave decision in history, but still. That one was in 1503 with the election of Pope Julius II. Just 10 hours.

But on this Thursday more than 500 years later, when the white smoke rose from the Sistine Chapel at 6 p.m. Vatican Palace time, I got a lump in my throat — the “magoon,” as my beloved Italian mother used to say. It describes those times when your emotions sneak up on you, slowly building out of the blue and then hit you like a ton of, well, bricks. You cannot stop the sweating of the eyes.

Especially after you hear this: Habemus papam Americanum! “We have an American pope.” His birth name was Robert Francis Prevost, “Bobby” to those who know him well. And now, this 69-year-old cardinal from Chicago who shall forever be known as Pope Leo XIV is seated on the throne of St. Peter.

Oh my goodness. An American pope? Holy smoke is right.

There are so many “firsts” about this man, and I’m not talking about eating sickeningly sweet icing off a 6-inch Sesame Street cake. Pope Leo XIV is the first pope to:

• Come from the United States. 
• Come from North America.
• Be a lifelong fan of the Chicago White Sox baseball team.
• Attend St. Augustine Seminary High School in Allegan County, near Holland, Michigan.
• Regularly play Wordle and Words with Friends with his brothers. (Honest to God’s truth, I swear, I am not making up this one.)

Those two “firsts” are really quite amazing. Of the 267 popes elected, 217 have been from Italy. Our last one, Pope Francis, was from South America. He began his papacy in 2013 and died on April 21 (Easter Monday) at age 89. May he rest in peace.

As far as Pope Leo XIV’s world views, most consider him a centrist, which is fine with me. Middle is good. On social issues, he’s seen as progressive, embracing marginalized groups as Pope Francis did. In his remarks last Thursday, the new pontiff said the church should be a missionary institution and “always be open to receiving with open arms for everyone.”

Honestly, I like to think Jesus was a liberal.

But I’m afraid our new American pope may not be as progressive as some think when it comes to women in the church, LGBTQ issues and abortion rights. I’ve read that he opposes ordaining women as deacons and considers same-sex families and their adopted children “at odds with the gospel.”

It’s the Catholic Church, after all. Perhaps he can be persuaded to come around on at least one or two of those issues.

Today, the pontiff held his first public audience with journalists at the Vatican. He called on the news media to choose “the path of communication in favor of peace.” Heck, he even signed a baseball for one reporter.

“Let us disarm words,” Pope Leo XIV said, adding: “Only informed individuals can make free choices.”

Indeed.

Here’s to a free press and shedding light on worldwide conflicts.

Here’s to an Everyman when we need someone with the extraordinary quality of being ordinary and humble. A kind face, comforting smile and quiet demeanor.

Pope Leo XIV is someone I’d like to watch a ballgame with or meet for coffee and have a piece of American apple pie with. But a Chicago-style hot dog? Not so much. Because you can’t use ketchup – and that would be a sin.

(YouTube audio only: Here’s the official audio of “I Say a Little Prayer” by Aretha Franklin from the 1968 album “Aretha Now.” This cover of Dionne Warwick’s hit reached No. 3 on the Billboard Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs.)