About 10 minutes in to Mass, a dad with three sons in tow came trucking down the aisle and parked right in front of us. I had to hand it to the guy. His kids (I'm guessing....6, 8, 10ish or thereabouts) were all in polos and mostly un-disheveled and they made it in before the homily (always a success in my book.)
No, what was inappropriate was my own reaction. I elbowed my sister so that she, too, could stifle the urge to laugh like a maniac, as I was doing. Then I had to nudge Brad, because heaven forbid he miss out on the bru-ha-ha. I contemplated the results of inserting Dominic surreptitiously into the fray since it seemed he belonged in that pew anyways. At one point the dad noticed the violence and gave the boys a very menacing look with a nice throat slice motion. It was good, it was authoritative, it meant business, and as soon as he looked away again, the younger boy smacked the older boy upside the head with a hymnal. I couldn't help it. I was laughing. So wrong, so inappropriate. I'm going to grow up one day, I think. Just not right now.