One of the top ten movies on my recommendation list for Catholics is The Incredibles. Produced by Pixar Animation Studios and released by Walt Disney Pictures in November 2004, The Incredibles won two Academy Awards and was the first entirely animated film to win the prestigious Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Performance.
As I mentioned last week, during the time I was growing up in the 1960s and ’70s, we had limited access to telephones. Most of the communication that occurred between couples who were dating was in person. Parents were able to exercise a reasonable level of control over the amount of time their teenagers spent on dates by limiting the use of the family vehicle and by imposing curfews.
There is a frequent occurrence at my home that involves my three youngest daughters, Mary (21), Christine (19), and Teresa (17). They regularly engage in long discussions about the boys they come into contact with. Of course, the first piece of information they always share with each other is whether a new guy is “gorge,” which is short for “gorgeous.”
I periodically encounter a devout Catholic who is struggling with emotional issues that are causing him or her to experience significant suffering. After a short discussion about what’s troubling the person, I always ask the exact same question: Do you pray your rosary every day? The answer is always ‘no.’ Always.
During the first week of May of each year, most Americans anticipate and plan for the one day that is set aside to honor the women who gave them life and cared for them while they were growing up — their mothers. The dictionary defines a “mother” as “a female parent” or “a woman in authority.” Unfortunately, that definition doesn’t really properly reflect the true nature of a mother.
Last month, I stopped at Schnucks in Peoria to purchase a couple of items. After I left the store, I drove alongside the curb in front of the store toward Glen Avenue. The weather was warm and there were a lot of people walking near the area where I was driving. After stopping at one of the small stop signs between Schnucks and Bed Bath & Beyond, I proceeded forward.
On the Saturday before Easter in 1969, I picked up the telephone and dialed the number for my Uncle Tony Couri’s house. At that time, I was 11 years old. I wanted to ask my cousin Gene Couri, who was the same age as I was, if his family was planning to go to our grandparents’ house for Easter. Gene and I shared the same grandparents, Tom and Effie Williams, and they had invited their children and grandchildren to join them for dinner on Easter Sunday.