The fugitive

On Sundays, we try to hit the 9:30 Mass. It's in the church basement and is promoted as the "family" mass. What this means, basically, is that people are forewarned that they might very well end up with someone's else child standing in their row and leaving a trail of Cheerios behind him as he rambles on. In fact, they might end up with my child doing just that.

Before we had Samson, I would only attend this Mass as a last resort. Call me a curmudgeon, but I'm not big on guitars and John Denver-y music in church. And I really don't need to hold other people's hands during the Lord's Prayer or to get all revival tent with the whole call-and-response thing.

That being said, I totally appreciate being in an environment where my 17-month-old is allowed to act his age and do his thing. Within reason, obviously, but it is really nice to watch him sit and play with his trucks with other kids his age.

The trouble is, the older he gets the less he sits. In fact, I realized today the major difference between a 17-month-old and a 21-month-old is not size or emotional development or language skills. It's speed.

The little boy next to us --- I think his name is Michael --- was fast. Olympic track-and-field highlight reels fast.

Normally, and especially in church, Samson will walk about 15 or 20 feet away from us and then turn around to see if we're watching. When this other little boy's feet hit the floor, it was like someone had fired a starter pistol. No look back, no gradual sneaking away. He was all forward motion.

Which made me think that our church [and maybe yours, too] is missing out on a big opportunity. If, at the start of Mass, you could put money on which kid (or kids) would make it to the altar before being caught by their parents, I bet it would bring in way more than bingo.

Live racing versus numbered ping-pong balls in a hopper. C'mon, it's not even close.

Think about it; you've got a small but active number of kids between 1 and 3 years old [and let's be honest, anything over 3 just wouldn't be fair] who make a break for it every Sunday. The oftener you go to Mass, the more familiar you'd be with the field of racers.

The church could cap the prize money at, say, $20, and have the rest take the place of the inevitable (and inevitably unpopular) second collection. And it could be a little more sophisticated than simple winners or losers. You could allow a parishioner to bet that Timmy Peterson (19 mos, 24 lbs) makes it to the altar rail before the second reading. Or something along those lines. Instead of ads in the bulletin, local businesses could sponsor toddlers.

This could work. Seriously, how much can you make from bake sales?

And yes, this is what I think about in church as I'm chasing after my son.

[Here's an inside tip if you come to church with us. I love my son more than anything in the world, but if you want a safe bet, put money on his friend Oliver. That little guy is showing some real promise. I think he'll be on the altar by Palm Sunday.]