Tomorrow marks Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent for Catholics worldwide. As a child, I dreaded Ash Wednesday. Sure it meant that winter would soon be over, and a bevy of chocolates in a basket would follow. And I'd like to think that I seriously reflected on the Catholic teachings of Jesus and his sacrifices at some point. But on Ash Wednesday, the only thought in my head was, "Dear God, I hope I don't run into anybody with these ashes on my forehead."
Mercifully we went to church after school to receive the ashes, which the priest rubbed on our foreheads. The ashes are supposed to be a sign of penance, reminding the person of his/her mortality. Apparently the saying is "Remember (O man) that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." (A hefty message for an 8-year-old to absorb, eh?)
At any rate, my sister and I would try to wipe as much of the ashes off as possible without arousing my mother's suspicions. Eventually she got wise (moms always do) and would warn us ahead of time not to wipe off the ashes. Afterward she tried to catch us in the act. I still remember her peeping into the rearview mirror as we drove home.
In the car we'd slink down in our seats, lest we pull up next to some hot guy in a Trans Am (yes, this was 1980s New Jersey), only to reveal our ashy faces out the window. Worse yet, we might see someone from school. Going straight home after getting ashes was the best case scenario. As it turned out, sometimes a "quick trip to the A&P" was required to get some last-minute item for dinner. Agh! Now there was even more of a chance we'd run into a classmate (hot guys with Trans Ams generally didn't hang out at the A&P).
Looking back it seems silly to be so self-conscious about a spot of ashes on one's forehead for a few hours. I'm sure I've had much worse on my face (late 1980s makeup applications, anyone?). If you see someone tomorrow who has a little somethin' on his face, don't point it out to him or you'll end up with something on your face...egg!
