Serving the people of the Archdiocese of Milwaukee
Green, Gold and God
When tragedy struck his family, Packer Frank Winters found support in Catholic faith
Jeff Kurowski - Special to Parenting
October, 1998
GREEN BAY - As a starting center in the National Football League, Frank Winters faces such menacing defensive tackles as John Randle and Warren Sapp over the course of the season. The battles in the trenches are a stern test for the veteran from Western Illinois University, but nothing compared to what he has recently faced off the field.
In January 1997, Winters' 35-year-old brother John died of a heart ailment. In May, tragedy struck again when his mother Rose died unexpectedly from a brain aneurysm.
"It's really tough to go through that in 15 months," said Winters. "I don't think my mom ever recovered from my brother's death. I think it may have led to what happened to her. That makes it even tougher to accept."
Winters turned to his family, football and his Catholic faith to cope with his devastating losses.
"Being such a tight family and talking on a regular basis with my brothers and sisters has really helped us get through it," he said. "It's also been really tough on my kids to lose an uncle they were very close to and their grandmother. You deal with your own emotions and have to be there for them."
Winters said that Super Bowl XXXI, pitting the Packers against the New England Patriots, provided him an outlet immediately following John's death. He got lost in the game and the festive atmosphere surrounding the event.
"When everything from the Super Bowl settled down, reality hit," he explained. "I began my grieving at that time."
Attending Mass with his family and the team Mass during the season have taken on an even greater significance for Winters, a 1996 Pro Bowler. He said it has helped him get through the tough times. The Catholic Church has always been an important part of his life.
"My mom was Italian and my dad is Irish, so their devotion to the church was big," he explained. "My mom was a first generation American. Her parents came over from Italy, so the church was everything to her. It is really what keeps my dad going today. He's a member of the St. Joseph Catholic Club (New Jersey) with all his friends, many who have also lost their wives."
Winters and his family were long-time members of St. Michael Parish in Union City, N.J., their hometown. His athletic interests started in the parish through his participation in CYO leagues and other sporting events sponsored by St. Michael. The church is no longer there, but the leader of the Packer offensive line still fondly remembers the impressive structure.
"It was such a beautiful old church that was four city blocks long with a monastery and everything," he said. "It was so different than the modern churches you see today."
Winters, his wife, Alita, and daughters, Aubre and Alexa, make their permanent home in the Kansas City area, where he played for the Chiefs from 1990-91. Although Green Bay is not his place of residence, Winters said he enjoys the city and the Packer fans. He also cherishes his relationships with his teammates.
"I have friendships with Mark (Chmura) and Brett (Favre) that will last beyond football," said Winters. "Our wives and kids are close and we'll always remain close. I am also good friends with the other offensive linemen. Marco Rivera and I have common friends and Joe (Andruzzi) and I am from the same part of the country. I hope we are like the old Packers. It's great when you see Bart Starr and Jerry Kramer at a golf outing and see how close they still are after all these years."
Winters' relationship with Fr. John Blaha, a priest of the Green Bay Diocese who has worked with the Packers, is another one he values.
"Fr. Blaha is such a great guy. He really cares," said Winters. "He was down at the Super Bowl after my brother had just died. He spent a lot of time talking with my mom and dad, helping them get through it. I'm so grateful he did that."
Winters is focused and ready for the 1998 season, his 12th in the NFL and seventh with the Packers.
"I think it's going to be a fun year," he said. "Expectations are high. Losing the Super Bowl left a bad taste in a lot of players' mouths."
Like all the Packers, he is driven by the goal to once again become champions, but Winters does not look any further into the future.
"I'm pretty much a day-to-day guy," he said. "I don't look down the road too much. I just play hard to the whistle and do whatever I can to help this team win."
As for his off-the-field goals, number 52 hopes family tragedy is in the past.
"I know it's a part of life, but I hope I don't have to go through
anything like that again for a very long time," said Winters. "It's
still tough to talk about it. You just try to move on."
Life" Patricia Lorenz - Special to Parenting
We hear a lot about self-esteem these days. About how important it is in the development of a child's personality and about how easy it is to destroy with a few thoughtless words.
When I was growing up in the 1950s, my parents didn't know much about self-esteem. They were just parents hard-working, God-loving, good people who didn't read psychology books or get bogged down with self-help articles. They raised two daughters and one son and there was never a doubt in my parents' minds as to whether or not we would grow up to be happy, reasonably successful people.
Both of my parents dropped out of college in the early 40s. Dad left to become a fighter pilot in the South Pacific during World War II. Mom left college to take a job at an Army/Air-Corp base in Texas to help with the war effort.
Later, when Dad returned to the United States in 1944, they married and Dad worked as a pilot instructor in Florida. Three weeks after I was born in 1945, just after the war ended, we moved to Illinois where Dad worked for 32 years as a rural mail carrier and mother as the parish secretary of our local Catholic church. Mother also balanced our family's small household budget to the penny each month.
In spite of the fact that my parents didn't graduate from college, conversations during my growing-up years were never prefaced with, "Girls don't need to go to college," or "If we can afford to send you to college...." Instead, from the time I was in grade school I can only remember exciting conversations that began with, "When you go to college."
My parents expected us to graduate from college, have careers, raise families and be successful. But most of all they wanted us to be happy. Their "just do it" vision and "work for it yourself" plan succeeded.
My brother Joe is a pilot for UPS and my sister Catherine is an elementary school teacher. We all have a boat load of self-esteem one quality I will always say is a direct gift from my parents.
Building self-esteem somehow came naturally to Mom and Dad. I remember one event in particular during my childhood as clearly as if it happened yesterday. To this day I believe it had more to do with building my self-esteem than anything anyone has ever said or done for me before or since.
One Saturday night when I was about 7 years old I'd gone to bed at my usual time, 8 or 8:30. By 9 p.m. I was into a sound sleep when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Pat, wake up," Dad whispered as he shook me gently. "Are you awake? We want you to come out to the kitchen."
"Huh? Why, Daddy?"
"Your Mom and I decided to have root beer floats and we don't want you to miss out. Come on, honey, there's a big brown cow out there for you."
I padded to the kitchen in my big pink fluffy slippers and flannel bathrobe and plopped down next to Mom at the old wooden table. I watched Dad scoop the vanilla ice cream into the large blue, yellow and brown stoneware mugs that were only used on special occasions because they were treasures from my mother's childhood.
The foam from the root beer tickled my nose as I chatted with my folks about school and about the family boat ride we were planning that weekend in the airboat my Dad had been building for the past couple years. Then I listened and shared excitedly as Mom, Dad and I discussed plans for our family vacation that summer.
I never felt more loved than I did that night in the kitchen as I groggily slurped root beer and ice cream with parents. Why? Because Mom and Dad wanted my company enough to wake me up so I could be there.
Is there a child or grandchild in your life who could use a boost of self-esteem? The best doses come when you simply let that child know, without a doubt, that you really, truly want to be with them and that you treasure their existence enough to share your most precious moments with them in person. It's about the choice of a few important words of encouragement to a child. But most of all it's about the gift of your time - the best gift of all.
(Lorenz has been writing for national magazines since 1981 and is the
author of the book, "Stuff That Matters for Single Parents." She
is also author of a 365-day devotional called "A Hug a Day for Single
Parents.")
Teach youngsters to turn mistakes into opportunities
James Pankratz - Special to Parenting
On New Year's Eve, our family went to a live performance featuring a ventriloquist, a dog act, a magician and a juggler. The magician was a handsome and talented young man who flawlessly combined mime with magic. When he finished, the audience cheered and the master of ceremonies interviewed him, asking him his advice for any aspiring, young magicians.
The juggler was a different story. He was no longer young, and his pot belly pressed snugly on the front of his medieval juggler's outfit with floppy feet. Soon he was tossing his handfuls of balls into the air. Whereas the sleek and polished magician was beginning his career, it was CLEAR the juggler had performed his act many times before. He even called attention to his world-weary attitude. During a trick he would look at the audience and say "Five years ... one lousy trick." The audience soon picked up on this and repeated it like a mantra.
At one point, one of the balls he was juggling bounced across the stage. I gulped. He retrieved the ball, paused and impishly announced "It's part of the act." Then he made another mistake. One of the large rings got away from him. With mock seriousness he again asserted "It's part of the act."
While I admired the magician, I empathized with the juggler. He made a mistake and recovered. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he secretly lacerating himself for blowing his act in front of hundreds of people on New Year's Eve? His appearance was one of calm acceptance. He didn't allow his mistakes to throw him. Juggling requires mental concentration as much as physical agility. He was obviously able to regain his concentration and finish the act with no further slip-ups.
How many times can we recall when a mistake was the beginning of a rapid tailspin? We became embarrassed, flustered, angry and completely forgot what we were supposed to do next. Why didn't the juggler allow this to happen to him? How did he manage to continue? How did he stay centered?
I would like to think the juggler learned a positive way of looking at himself and his actions in his family. Perhaps years earlier his parents taught him not to regard a mistake as a catastrophe. How? Fathers and mothers teach their children a profound lesson in how to think about mistakes by how they react to their children's mistakes and to their own mistakes.
It's easy for human beings to equate a mistake with failure. And even worse yet to regard themselves as failures for having made mistakes. A daughter knocks over a can of sticky soda and her father yells "Don't be so clumsy!" A son reports through his sobs that his bike was stolen. An exasperated mom scolds him "How many times did I tell you to lock it up at night?" The message is clearly: "You could achieve perfection and avoid all the pain that results from human error if you only listened to me." A lot of people are walking around feeling bad about themselves because they realize that they are not perfect and never will be.
But isn't perfection over-rated? If individuals never made mistakes, much that is good in the world would never have come to be. My younger son was recently reading a book with the inspiring title, "Mistakes that Worked," by Charlotte Foltz Jones. The book is full of anecdotes about how blunders, accidents and oversights led to brilliant discoveries. Take the potato chip, for example.
One day in 1853 at an exclusive vacation site in Saratoga Springs, N.Y., a customer sent his plate of fried potatoes back to the kitchen. He wanted them sliced thinner and fried longer. The angry chef retaliated by frying them until they were crisp and curled. Then he poured salt on them. Today Americans spend close to $4 billion a year on potato chips.
Jones' book also tells of a doctor walking with a soldier blinded in World War I combat. He briefly left his patient and his dog together while he attended to another matter. When he returned, both of them were gone. When he tracked them down, he found the dog had led the blind man around the hospital grounds.
He thought about how much more a trained dog could do. Although dogs guiding individuals is a phenomenon dating back to ancient times, this incident was the inspiration for starting an organized training program for dog guides. Today about 6,500 blind persons in the United States benefit from dog guides.
Try teaching your children to think of a mistake in a new way. Instead of concluding that it is a failure, tell them it's an opportunity. A mistake is simply an outcome which we did not expect. In itself it is not necessarily good or bad. Not every mistake will lead to a new scientific discovery, of course. Some are just inconvenient. But it need not be>
Explaining 'resurrection of body' to children means sharing a mystery
Donna Pinsoneault - Special to Parenting
"Billy started it! He pushed me when we got off the bus." Jimmy slammed his math book on the kitchen table, yank>d open the refrigerator door, and started to gulp orange juice from the carton.
"Not so fast," his mother said. "Go wash your face. Tuck in your shirt. Get yourself a glass and sit down. I want to hear more about this fight."
When Jimmy returned to the kitchen, the grimy smudge on his cheek was gone, but a long scratch on his chin and a small bruise on his forehead were evident.
"Billy's a jerk," he said as he poured the juice. "Mom, when Grandpa died you told me that we would all be together with God someday, right? Billy says that's stupid. That when we die, we die. End of discussion."
"What do you think, Jimmy?"
"I told Billy that we believe in Jesus Christ, that he died and rose from the dead for us, and that we're going to rise, too. Then Billy called me stupid. He said, 'Like there would be room for everybody who has ever been alive forever and ever!'
"Then he started singing that song about the worms. So I told him to stop and he wouldn't, so I pushed him, and he hit me, so I hit him back. If we are going to rise from the dead, I want to be with Grandpa But I sure don't want to be with Billy! Why do we have to die anyway?"
Talking honestly with children about death is difficult. Talking with them about life after death seems nearly impossible. We say the Apostles Creed, affirming our belief in the resurrection of the body. But believing in that mystery and explaining it are entirely different matters.
"It is a hard topic," said Fr. Melvin Michalski, director of the pre-theology program and assistant professor of systematic theology at Saint Francis Seminary. "The resurrection of the body has to do with life everlasting. It tells us that death is not to be feared."
What makes it difficult to explain, according to Michalski, is that we know life only as it is on earth.
"But life as we know it now on earth is not the only form of life," he said. "We look forward to 'risen' life, to 'transformed' life, 'glorified' life. If we think of the resurrected body in purely physical terms, we are looking at it as if we would continue to have the kind of body we have now."
Resurrection is not the same as the body being resuscitated, Michalski said. It is not the same experience as when Jesus called Lazarus forth from the tomb or when Jesus restored life to the daughter of Jairus. These people returned to the same state of life and had to die again. Nor is resurrection of the body the same as reincarnation, which some claim is rebirth of a soul into a new body.
"Resurrection is transformed life," Michalski repeated. In his letter to the Corinthians St. Paul writes that Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. And in the preface said in Masses for the dead, the church prays, "Lord, for your faithful people life is changed, not ended. When the body of our earthly dwelling lies in death we gain an everlasting dwelling place in heaven (1 Cor 15).
"We have only one example of the resurrection - Jesus Christ," Michalski said. But he pointed out it is not the empty tomb that convinces us of the resurrection of Jesus, but the fact that Jesus appeared to people after he rose from the dead.
And, it is how Jesus appeared after his resurrection that teaches us most about the resurrection of the dead.
On the one hand, the resurrection stories stress the bodiliness of the risen Lord. The apostles are gathered at table. Jesus appears to them and scolds them for being doubtful and afraid. He tells them, "Touch me and see for yourself. A ghost has not flesh and bones as you can see I have."
The risen Lord also asks for something to eat to show that this is not a ghost or wishful thinking or imagining on the part of his followers.
The apostle Thomas was not at that gathering but he was present when Jesus a week later appeared to the apostles again. Doubting Thomas had to be convinced that the Crucified One was truly risen. Jesus says to him, "Put your hand in (the wound of) my side." And Thomas knows this is Jesus.
On the other hand, he is different. The resurrection stories insist the body of Jesus has been radically transformed. People who meet the risen Jesus have difficulty recognizing him at first. Mary Magdalen visited the tomb before dawn and thought he was the gardener.
On the road to Emmaus, the two disciples walked and talked with the risen Jesus before they recognized him in the breaking of bread. And it was only in faith that the beloved disciple realized that the stranger cooking fish on the beach was his friend Jesus.
"To them he is the same, yet not the same," Michalski explained. "He is transformed. He's the same as they knew him before the crucifixion, but he is also different. There is something mysterious about him."
Another difficulty in explaining the resurrection of the body is that we often speak of the body and soul as separate.
"But we are both body and soul," Michalski said. "We cannot separate the two. Resurrection is not the mere continuation of the physical reality we know. But it is not totally spiritual either; it is not the soul separated from the body. It is we, the whole we, that are saved and transformed, no longer subject to the restraints of life on earth like pain and hurts and sickness and death."
The body is important in our faith, Michalski said, because it is how we relate to others. The body is not bad. It will not be discarded. We believe it will be raised up and be transformed and glorified. We believe: "If we die with the Lord, we will rise with the Lord."
In Jesus we know that God is a God who saves us in our bodies, Michalski said. God wants us, then, to see our bodies - everything that we are, including our feelings, our emotions - as holy.
And that is where belief in the resurrection of the body comes to life for us on a day-to-day basis, even for children like Jimmy and Billy.
"If my body is holy and sacred," Michalski said, "if it's going to be raised up, I have an obligation to treat myself and others with respect and dignity."
In Scripture, the theology professor pointed out, Jesus always treats others with respect. He never excludes others. Instead he says, "You are in need, I will help you."
Jesus ministers to bodily needs as well as spiritual. When he sees people hungry or people who need rest, he provides for them. His example tells us we have to take care of others and ourselves in the same way.
So when it comes to sharing what we believe about the resurrection of the body, we can begin by teaching children to treat their bodies, their minds, and their emotions with respect, Michalski said. By how we behave and by what we value, we can show children that, because of our faith, name-calling, shoving, hitting, and not respecting others' opinions have no place in our relationships.
Then we can invite children to talk about their faith and ask questions about difficult doctrines like the resurrection of the body.
Death is sad. And, as hard as Jimmy or any of us try, it is impossible to imagine what risen life is like. But in Scripture we can hear Jesus say, "I am the Resurrection and the Life; whoever believes in me, even if they die, they will live."
Patricia Lorenz Special to Parenting
I always knew the day would come when I had to say goodbye to my youngest child and leave him in a dorm room somewhere to begin his college education. It happened this past August. I said goodbye to Andrew, not in a Wisconsin college two or three hours away as I had to my other children, but in Tempe, Ariz., more than 1,800 miles and four days in the car away.
It wasn't easy to leave this young man who is tied so tightly to my heart strings, but I took it like a woman who knew that our goodbye in the 107-degree, palm-lined park area outside his dorm was not the end of anything.
It wasn't the end of my parenting job even though I know he's a legal 18-year-old voting, tax-paying man now. No, having deposited my other three children at their respective colleges years earlier, I remembered how it went and within the first weeks of Andrew's college life, I was able to re-tie my motherhood apron. I knew that just because they're living away from home doesn't mean they don't need us to keep doing those things that help our birds fly off the branch into adulthood.
I'm not talking about sending care packages with cookies, clean underwear and extra dollars stuffed inside a few magazines. No, I'm talking the College Commandments. Four things you can't teach your kids while they're still living at home, but within the first few weeks after they leave, it's important to either phone, fax, e-mail or snail mail the following:
College Commandment No. 1: Thou Shalt Not Ever Bring Your Dirty Laundry Home To Mom.
One of the main reasons we send these kids off to college is to learn the three most basic things in life - how to take care of your own food, clothing and shelter needs. Since most of them live in a dorm the first year, that means food and shelter are taken care of for them. The very least they can do is start managing their own laundry. Besides, nothing ruins a perfectly good weekend visit with your college son or daughter more than the thought of five loads of their jeans and T-shirts languishing on the floor in the laundry room.
College Commandment No. 2: Thou Shalt Not Call Your Parents on the Phone Collect. Or worse yet, a conversation like this: "Hi Mom! Call me right back!" Click. If that ever happens call them right back and say, "Dear, when YOU have a reason or a need to talk to me, YOU pay for the call and YOU decide how long we'll talk. When I have a reason or a need to talk to you, I'LL pay for the call and I'LL decide how long we'll talk. Now let's start again. I love you." Click.
Too many parents get sucked in by those 800 numbers and prepaid phone cards which do nothing but encourage long, frequent phone blatherings that end up costing the folks a fortune and teach the students nothing about fiscal responsibility. Just keep reminding yourself that your college students are legal adults who are entitled to be responsible for their own bills, including their "wants" as well as their "needs."
College Commandment No. 3: Thou Shalt Not Spend Money Frivolously. Where is it written that campus life includes sports cars, appliances in the dorm rooms, nightly beer and pizza parties, weekly shopping trips to the mall for CDs and clothes, and wild, crazy, expensive spring break vacations?
As a parent whose children got through college with grants, scholarships, loans, work-study programs and two to three part-time jobs each, in addition to the funds I'd personally saved for them, it seems to me that the education, not the fun, is the most important part of those four years.
Until I can afford to spend Easter in the Bahamas or Cancun myself, I'd say college commandment No. 3 is about as fair as it gets. After they graduate and get a real job, I'll be happy to take a ride in their first car and I'll even throw them a bon voyage party when they want to head south for a break.
College Commandment No. 4: Thou Shalt Have Thy Own Checking Account to Pay Thy Own Bills. Checking account good. Credit card bad. The checking account teaches them the value of having money in the coffer to pay for the item before they buy it. It also avoids the phone call, letter or e-mail that says, "Mom, remember those shorts I bought just before I left? They're great, so could you buy me two more pair and send them?" You can do the actual buying and mailing because we parents are warm, loving, generous-with-our-time human beings, but just don't forget to include a note that says, "Be sure to send me a check for $27.50 to pay for the shorts."
There are days when I miss Andrew desperately. But there's one consolation. College kids still need lots more lessons from parents if we're really going to do our job well. I call it College Commandments: Economics 101.
Others call it "tough love." My daughter Julia said it best in a letter to me recently. At the top she'd typed, "A parent is not a person to lean on, but a person to make leaning unnecessary." Amen.
(Lorenz, an author who raised four children singlehandedly, is now an empty nester sharing her experiences through books, articles and speeches. You may contact her through the Catholic Herald.)
James Pankratz - Special to Parenting
This is the true story of how my children came to run circles around our car in the middle lane of the Illinois Tri-State late on a hot, summer night this August.
That morning I woke up with a mild premonition. The distinct sentence "Today your luck will run out" flashed through my mind. Not being a psychic, I ignored the warning. Today was the day our family planned a day trip to an amusement park in Green Bay. You already know that we didn't end up there. That's because the night before was the Great Flood II in which a deluge of tropical rain wreaked havoc on hundreds of homeowners and washed out northbound Hwy. 43 around Sheboygan.
Believing that prudence is the better part of valor, my wife and I decided to implement Plan B. We pointed our car in the opposite direction and started out for Chicago and the Museum of Science and Industry. The trip south was not smooth sailing. Bumper-to-bumper traffic combined with periodic cloudbursts made it a slow, tense crawl to our destination. This was another premonition of what was in store for us later that night.
Once we arrived the clouds of anxiety disappeared. We blasted off on the space shuttle, trained on a flight simulator, danced to a psychedelic closed circuit video, all courtesy of that wonderful museum. And we got to eat at our two favorite restaurants in Chicago.
It was just after 9 p.m. and we were making our way home on the 94 tollway. We felt happy, full and I was proud of the time we were making clipping along. When I saw a sign announcing the Russell Road exit just south of the Wisconsin border, I thought, "We'll be home in less than an hour." That's when we went around a curve and saw the sea of traffic just ahead. There was no exit. I had no choice but to drive right into it.
The traffic was not crawling. It was stopped. Dead. Still hopeful, I put the car in park and let the engine idle. I could see three lanes of cars and trucks winding up an incline and around to the left for approximately a half mile ahead. One by one, their brake lights went black. I knew what that meant. We were going to be here a while. I turned off the ignition.
The first decision to be made was "Do we get out of the car?" Just two car lengths ahead in the right lane was a semi. My wife suggested that the driver might have a CB radio and know what was holding things up. Emboldened by the noise of car doors opening and closing and the silhouettes of others emerging from their vehicles, I cautiously left the security of the car.
The door of the cab was open and the driver was sitting sideways making use of the lull to make some entries on a form attached to his clipboard. "Excuse me," I began. "We thought you might have heard on your radio what the problem up ahead was." He smiled and very cordially replied that he had no idea since he didn't have a CB radio.
On the way back to the car I encountered a couple in the left lane. They were on their way to a relative's house in Wisconsin and were scheduled to fly out of Mitchell Field at 7 a.m. the next morning. I checked my watch. It was close to 10 now. I secretly wondered whether they would make it on time.
While the grown-ups were worrying when our escape would come, the kids made the most of the opportunity. I sought a glimpse of two teen-agers riding their bikes along the median strip presumably acting as the family scouts. Another car had slipped off the right shoulder and a few yards down the grassy embankment to make way for a northbound squad car. Luckily it contained four or five 20-somethings who managed to push it back onto the pavement. Loud cheers. Maybe it was about now that my own kids decided to take a few laps around our car.
The couple in the left lane suggested we tune to a certain station that was talking about the snarl-up. During a brief downpour our family listened intently while a broadcaster revealed that emergency crews were cleaning animal parts off of the Tri-State around Russell Road. Animal parts? Did a car hit a deer? The friendly trucker informed me that someone had walked to the site of the problem a mile and a half up the highway and reported that a truck had turned over. Had a truck turned over after hitting an animal? The mystery continued.
My mother was at our house and expecting us home around 10 o' clock. I knew she'd be worrying. I walked down the line of cars asking out loud if anyone had a cell phone. I had only walked a couple of car lengths when a young businessman in the right lane said he had one. After talking to my mother, I asked him what I owed him. He told me to forget it.
The man in the van to the right of us told me that he had called his wife at 7:30 and told her he would be late for supper. It was now around 11. I suggested that he could use the cell phone and let her know where he was. He told me that when we finally get moving, he was going to take the exit leading to 131 since he predicted the expressway would continue to be packed. He suggested I follow him.
Around 11:25 hope shone through the darkness. In the distance people began to see a line of break-lights. I heard someone shout "Hot dog!" followed by the sound of engines and the flashes and shadows of front beams being turned on. As we inched forward we finally got to see the cause of the problem, a rendering truck had accidentally spilled its cargo of animal parts all over the highway.
As we drove past the fire engines washing the pavement clean and the car picked up speed, I felt redeemed. I thought of the 1967 movie "Weekend" in which the French filmmaker Godard depicted his vision of hell. The central image was a mammoth traffic jam that went on forever. A traffic jam, this traffic jam, was not hell. Hell is a traffic tie-up in which no one lends a hand to help his or her neighbor.
(Pankratz is a marriage and family therapist in Catholic Charities' Milwaukee
regional office.)
Copyright, 1997 by Catholic Herald, Milwaukee, WI
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