Today, when I picked Iain up from school, he immediately noticed the ashes on my forehead. 'Where did that come from?' he wanted to know. Church, I said. 'Did you do that yourself?' he asked. No, Fr Tony did that, I explained. He wanted me to wash it off. Immediately. I said, a bit too flippantly, that the Archbishop wouldn't like it if I did that, whereupon Iain started to cry. That'll teach me to quote the Catholic Herald to my 4-year-old. So I had to promise to try to get the ashes off once we got home.
Iain and I walked to the bus station, and rode the bus home. (Iain absolutely loves to ride the bus!) About halfway home, a group of teenagers boarded the bus and headed straight for the back, where Iain had insisted on sitting. One of them, a boy, stared at my forehead. He tried, without success, to get his schoolmates to join him in staring at my forehead.
I think there was a time that might have bothered me. But that feels like a very long time ago now.
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