A Father's Touch & the Spirit's Kiss:
A Faith Story
My parents, Raymond & Elizabeth; my dad at my son's Baptism in 1988
In particular, I remember an incident from when I was nearly three years old that taught me a lesson. (I have very vivid memories of this time even now. I had taught myself to read already, was very active, a 'wise guy' and a troublemaker.) And I will also speak about the meaning that my Confirmation had for me.
My father had made it very clear to me that I was NEVER, under any circumstances, to climb the ladder which went to my two brothers' bunk bed when no one was around. And, yet, there I was , looking up to the great heights of the upper berth as it loomed over the ladder. The clear warning of my father was pushed to the rear of my mind as my curiosity and inquisitiveness took control. I had climbed very nearly to the top and had the desired goal in vew, when suddenly the ladder detached itself from the bed and began moving backwards. (This tendency to dislodge must have been the reason for the warning in the first place!) The ladder fell straight back! Before I knew it, I was sprawled on the floor in pain, bawling my eyes out. I had fallen from quite high. (Luckily, I was just fine!)
My father rushed into the room. What he did in the matter of a few seconds speaks to me yet. He first gave me a small spank on the behind. Then, he enfolded me in his arms in a comforting hug. I remember quite clearly that he did not say a word, but the lesson couldn't have been any more loud or distinct if he had shouted it. The feeling I remember is one of almost religious awe: 'my father is strict and demanding about what is best for me, and yet, he will always love me no matter what'.
pictures from 'the camp'; my birthday March 25, 1960
At this time, I spent much time reflecting about God, and I knew we were very devout believers, although I do not remember religion being discussed in the family. When I was three, we moved from our camp upon the lake to the city, where my father, after being sober for eight years, fell back into very heavy alcoholic drinking. From this point on, our daily family reality became a hellish one, but my mother did manage to get me to CCD classes at the local French parish. In those days, we had First Confession and First Communion at the age of six, and Confirmation at seven years old. It is my experience of Confirmation that I would like tell you about now.
When the day and the Bishop arrived, it soon became clear that we kids in the CCD class were second class citizens. The parochial school kids all sat up front and were shown every courtesy, while we CCD'ers, most of whom were only there because of poverty, were stuck in the final two rows and ignored. When the pastor came down to ask questions, he asked many questions up front and I remember being impressed at them. Then he wandered back to us and fixed his stare at the student whom everyone knew without a doubt to be the least accomplished student among us, Dennis T. I remember the horror I felt for him and for us CCD kids, and hoping against hope that by some miracle he could come up with the answer. I do not remember the question but I will never forget the look on Dennis' face: it was the pop-eyed, slack-jawed stare of a frightened rabbit. Supernatural intervention not being with us that day, poor little Dennis, of course, could not answer. The pastor made some sneering remark in French something to the effect of, 'What else could we expect from the like of these.' and thus ended the questioning. 
However, the real story is what happened next. I went up to the Bishop. I do not remember the actual act of Confirmation at all, but I will never forget the result. I had an experience which I will never be able to describe. I remember thinking 'So THIS is what all of those lessons were about.' The closest description I found many years later in Ste. Therese de Lisieux's description of her First Communion. 
After the ceremony, my mother was telling everyone of her outrage and how she had stormed up to the priest to complain about his conduct. My reaction was that it did not bother me one single bit. Didn't we have to forgive each other? Doesn't she know what a wonderful day this is? People are like that, but God?....I had begun a relationship of trust with Jesus and His Spirit which was opening my eyes to my dignity and that of others. I was so happy, but it wasn't like anything I'd felt before. It was more than just a 'feeling'. 
Three years later, I was passing by the open door of the Irish church as a Confirmation was taking place. Though it involved total strangers, that same joy filled me and I ran all the way home to tell my mother how wonderful it was. Soon, the weight of everything in my life dragged me down to woundedness and suicidal despair, but the gentle call of that day when I was seven, that Holy Spirit's kiss, still sounded in the background until I finally responded and had my conversion experience at the age of 15. 
You can see my pain in junior high; later, after my conversion, I am doing retreats & concerts
In retrospect, it seems that the loving formation of my earliest years overcame the harsh experiences after age three and what my parents taught me of God by example was of lasting value. I trace back the beginning of my soul's education in the great lessons of life to the eloquence of a father's touch and the Holy Spirit's gentle kiss.
