My Hair Shirt: Sins of Omission
As a child playing one sunny
Saturday morning, probably making dolls clothes, my mother invited me to
accompany her to Church to go to confession. This was not uncommon, in fact
rather boring, as a Roman Catholic it was usual before mass particularly on a
holy day of obligation, in order to a accept communion. I politely declined. I
couldn’t think of anything I’d done wrong. I’d done my chores and hadn’t even
been fighting with my brother Jon. This latter was most unusual as sister
baiting was one of his favourite pastimes.
“No Thank you Mother
Dearest” I replied,” I have no sins to confess” to which she uttered
the fateful phrase
“But, what about your Sins of Omission?”
The things one hasn’t done, an endless list of tasks
that I’ve woven into a hair shirt I wear to remind me of what I should do and
ought to be
