![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Look at this little dude. Those deep red wings. Those magnificent antennae, that look velvety like antlers. I've never seen anything like him outside the Burren, where I took the picture.
( 3: A song that reminds you of summer )
Look at this little dude. Those deep red wings. Those magnificent antennae, that look velvety like antlers. I've never seen anything like him outside the Burren, where I took the picture.
( 3: A song that reminds you of summer )
Kids these days, don't know they're born.
Oct. 20th, 2004 12:10 pmAs some of you might remember, I was at my cousin's wedding in Kerry a few weeks ago. As I was stumbling back down the aisle after the interminable ceremony, punch-drunk from the assault of hyper-Catholicism (did you know that the full version of the Catholic wedding vows requires you to promise not to use contraception, which my cousin blithely did?), I found this on the bookshelves at the back among piles of The Irish Catholic newspaper:
Wow, I thought. The Church are sufficiently on the ball to produce a parents' guide aimed specifically at old-school punks (of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
modalverben's vintage, perhaps) who have settled down after their wild youth and are dealing with parenthood. And sure enough, inside I found concerned letters like these:
"Despite all my efforts to get my son into the Pistols and the Clash, he insists on filling his ears with commercial, manufactured chart-pap. What can I do to save him from this vile and dangerous habit?"
"All my daughter wants is a job at Citibank, working her way up the financial ladder, and all the designer trainers she can wear at the weekends. I have done my best to teach her right from wrong. Where have I messed up?"
"While cleaning my son's room, under the mattress I discovered a stash of literature from the Conservative Party. I fear he may have joined it in secret. How do I broach this awkward subject?"
Of course, Father Paul Andrews (S.J.), writer for The Sacred Heart Messenger magazine, handled all these questions adroitly and soothingly. The world needs more people like Father Paul.
Wow, I thought. The Church are sufficiently on the ball to produce a parents' guide aimed specifically at old-school punks (of
modalverben's vintage, perhaps) who have settled down after their wild youth and are dealing with parenthood. And sure enough, inside I found concerned letters like these:"Despite all my efforts to get my son into the Pistols and the Clash, he insists on filling his ears with commercial, manufactured chart-pap. What can I do to save him from this vile and dangerous habit?"
"All my daughter wants is a job at Citibank, working her way up the financial ladder, and all the designer trainers she can wear at the weekends. I have done my best to teach her right from wrong. Where have I messed up?"
"While cleaning my son's room, under the mattress I discovered a stash of literature from the Conservative Party. I fear he may have joined it in secret. How do I broach this awkward subject?"
Of course, Father Paul Andrews (S.J.), writer for The Sacred Heart Messenger magazine, handled all these questions adroitly and soothingly. The world needs more people like Father Paul.
