This past weekend, for the third year in a row, I joined my father at a religious retreat in the affluent suburbs of Philadelphia. And luckily, for the third straight year, I didn’t burst into flames the second I stepped on the retreat grounds. I spent some nice, holy, quality time with my very kind and caring father. It was a time of prayer, a time of reflection, and a time to catch up on all the sleep my toddler son is taking away from me.

My dad has wanted me to join him on this retreat for years. He has been doing it since the mid-90’s. But in my post college, working twenty-something days, a precious weekend spent sober and with a bunch of old dudes praying just didn’t appeal to me. Not to mention it lands in the heart of the NFL playoff schedule. So, like a selfish jerk, I always told my dad no. Now, and probably forever, I feel bad that I hadn’t joined him more on this.

But then something changed, I had a baby and became a father myself. And of course, it made me appreciate my father ten million times more. All his sacrifices, all his love, and all the care he has given me. Not to mention I probably owe him about the gross domestic product of a third world country. I grew up (kinda) and realized how much it would mean to my dad if I went with him. It no longer felt like a sacrifice to me to give up a weekend, I wanted to spend a weekend with him. Although I guess it is more of a sacrifice for my girlfriend Cailin to have to spend a weekend alone with the non-stop, full throttle tyrant we call our son Jack.

The retreat itself consists of about 300 men whose average age is probably 67.8 years old. I joked to my dad that I never realized how many men want to get away from their wives and kids for the weekend. (Maybe this is why golf is so popular) It is of course a solemn affair, where you attend Mass daily, and get to listen to unmarried priests that don’t have to work and may or may not have ever even touched a woman tell you how to have a strong marriage and not let your job stress you out.  

The retreat starts Friday night with a meal of some sort of fish. I don’t eat fish, so my dad allowed me to get dinner at a nearby pub. While I was in there, I saw two of the bigwigs of the retreat having dinner and drinks as well. Later that night at Mass when I tried to point out one of the guys I saw at the bar, I told my dad “that guy with the silver hair back there.” My dad then deadpanned, “you’re gonna have to be more specific” as we looked back into a sea of gray and silver haired gentlemen filling the church pews. In a way, it is kind of nice to be one of the “young guys” at the retreat, especially since the retreat leaders consider young guys to be in their mid 50’s!

Now, I know my dad really gets a ton of fulfillment from this peaceful and holy weekend, but I had to admit to him that I really don’t. But I think it is because I am expecting to get spiritually swept off my feet, and I know that isn’t the point. I will say that it is a wonderful time to think about things, and adjust my attitude and outlook. It’s also cool to have a clear head so I can think of funny things to write in this blog! 

One part of the retreat I struggle with is that there is no wifi, no televisions, and only one computer that I didn’t touch. I didn’t check work emails, I didn’t facebook, and didn’t read one single Kanye West tweet. I rarely texted anyone, and only spoke to Cailin on the phone to get updates about how she and Jack were doing. In a weird way, it is very refreshing. It’s definitely a peaceful weekend, but my true idea of peaceful is Jack fast asleep while Cailin and I sip beers and watch college basketball. It’s also some nice quality time with my dad, although if he ever expects my little brother to join us, the “retreat” is going to need to be held in Vegas or some tropical island.

Over the weekend, I was washed away of my sins, but ironically didn’t shower once because the facilities’ bathroom is like a prison shower. So I came home cleansed with God’s love but smelling like the devil’s ass. And I thought about Jesus, and that I doubt he would add Pontius Pilate as a friend on Facebook. And that Jesus can “make it rain”, literally!

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