You never asked me, but...

I was an infant in early 1944 when Father Driscoll, an old Irish priest, splashed some Holy Water on my bare noggin, made the Sign of the Cross on my forehead, and baptized me in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

Amen!

Of course, I don't remember it.

But I'll never forget Father Driscoll, for whom I was an altar boy when the Mass was said in Latin in the 1950s, and he was a cantankerous old priest who didn't take a fancy to babies crying loudly at Mass on Sundays when he was trying to shake down the parishioners for their fifty cent pieces, quarters, dimes, nickels and e...