Gratitude

What with tomorrow being Thanksgiving, I decided last week on a rather unoriginal idea: to write a list of things I'm thankful for.

That said, I am thankful for:

1. Teresa, our almost 8-year old daughter, who told me a couple weeks ago, “Daddy, today I learned the difference between perfect and imperfect contrition” – and then proceeded to explain said difference in a way that would surely have satisfied even St. Thomas Aquinas.

2. Cecilia, our 6-year old daughter, who already has way, way more artistic talent than I have, allowing her to create neat pictures like this:



3. Lucy, our 5-year old daughter, who loves to sing along as loudly as she possibly can to the soundtrack of Annie.

4. Joe, our 3-year old son, who always seems happy and who seems to make everybody else he sees happy too.

5. Anthony/A.J., our 19-month old son, whose willingness to climb most anything causes me to think he’s destined for many fearless pursuits throughout life.

6. That all of our children’s godparents are exemplary role models who pray for them every day.

7. Our new baby, due in April.

8. That all of us are in relatively good health.

9. Jocelyn, who is, well, just an awesome wife.

10. Jocelyn, who is, well, just an awesome mom.

11. A job I absolutely love.

12. A modest home in a decent neighborhood.

13. Two motorcars that are paid for, one of which, given to us by one of my brothers 10 years ago, still runs just fine.

14. The speech therapists I met with (after being picked up by the short bus) a few times a week from kindergarten through second grade who helped me overcome a significant stuttering habit.

15. The many great teachers I’ve had throughout my life.

16. The time I spent teaching from 2000-2004.

17. A family and extended family (on both my side and Jocelyn’s) in which – more or less – everybody gets along.

18. Chicago-style pizza.

19. The writings of G.K. Chesterton.

20. Countless good friends.

21. Loving and supportive parents.

22. Having had the chance to study in Rome for four months in 1997.

23. Having grown up in a home in which neither money nor food was wasted, which very much helped me to learn the proverbial “value of a dollar.”

24. Having grown up in Minnesota, as a result of which I know that the proper way to play the game is “Duck, Duck, Gray Duck” – not the silly, ridiculous apology known as “Duck, Duck, Goose”.

25. Our local parish – St. Odilo – a mere four blocks from our house, where the Tridentine Mass is offered every Sunday.

26. St. John Cantius, our “other” parish – where, on any given Sunday, three or four priests hear confessions before (and during) Mass, so that wretched, habitual sinners like me are able, as often as we need, to bare our souls to someone who really and truly does have the power to forgive them.

27. Far more than I could possibly hope to include in a list like this.

Learning to Knit

Recently, our seven-year old daughter Teresa — our firstborn child — learned to knit.

In itself, this is really no big deal, I suppose, given that it's hardly unheard of for a child to know how to knit. But for me, as her dad, the thing that struck me about her newfound ability is that this is the first time I can recall that one of our children has acquired a skill that I don't have.

From the time our kids are very young, we teach them to crawl, walk, talk, tie their shoes, read, etc., but these are all things that we ourselves know how to do. And still, to be sure, when our children have developed (or will develop) any of these basic skills, as their dad it has brought me great joy to behold each of these milestones, and will continue to do so.

But now that our children are beginning to learn skills that I myself don't have, it has brought me even greater joy, and it has reminded me of the importance of our job as parents to instill in them a desire to discover and nurture their own God-given talents.

[Cross-posted at Catholic Dads]

Fire Found to Be Very Hot

How could anyone have ever known that there's a connection between early exposure to TV and later problems with attention span?

Call it the perfect storm of parenting. Who doesn’t want to believe that there is a magical, wondrous, no-parental-guidance-required product that will turn their kids into Mensa members? The combination of our lack of time, our paranoia over our kids performance, and our faith in technology primed this generation of parents to accept the clever advertising around "Baby Einstein" as truth...

I've never seen any of the Baby Einstein DVDs, and as far as I know, our kids haven't, either.

We did buy one of the Holy Baby DVDs a few years ago when our two oldest girls (now ages 5 and 6) were younger, but it was only watched a few times—largely, as I recall, because they weren't much interested in it.

Just as well.

[Cross-posted at Catholic Dads]

I Defy Anyone

...to watch this and not be moved:



Background on Team Hoyt here.

[HT: Rick at Catholic Dads]

Bike Helmets

I just posted this on the Catholic Dads Blog:


My parents came in from Minneapolis yesterday, and they'll be staying with us for the next week. (Happily, this will allow them to join us for the St. John Cantius Parish picnic this Sunday, which The Dutchman posted about yesterday.)

Knowing that our eldest daughter Teresa just learned to ride a bike a couple weeks ago, my mom had cut out a column for me that recently appeared in the Minneapolis Star Tribune by one of my favorite writers, James Lileks, in which he reflected on his experience teaching his daughter to ride a bike:

No parent can teach a child to ride a bike without being overwhelmed with the accursed metaphorical nature of it all: You hold them as they practice, then take your hands off as they gain skill. You trotting alongside, ready to intercede should gravity make a play for your fragile little egg. Watch the turns. Don't overcompensate. Keep your speed up. The skill is soon mastered, and she's riding by herself. You stay there. She rides away, makes the turn, comes back.

"You know what this is?" I said, patting the frame. "Freedom."

She rolled her eyes. From what?

Oh, it'll come to you. And it'll take you away. The moment I saw her pedal away I foresaw the nights I'd worry when she was late pedaling back to the house, after a glorious twilight tour of the world we want her to explore. The bike became the car; the car became college; college became the Future, where there aren't helmet laws and you're not leaning up against the car in the parking lot, thinking, well, worst-case scenario, I have Band-Aids in the glovebox.

But there isn't an alternative. You teach them to ride; you teach them to go. You hope they wear a helmet and brake when the sign says stop.

Read the whole thing—you'll be glad you did.

Interestingly, I had intended a few days ago to post an entry here on Catholic Dads about the whole helmet issue, and this column has prompted me to do so today.

On the one hand, it seems to me that the push for kids to wear helmets when they first learn to ride a bike is a bit silly, and is merely one of the consequences of living in an outrageously litigious society.

On the other hand, as a dad who is concerned for the well-being of his children and who wants them to acquire good safety habits early on — and, I must admit, as someone who regularly wears a bike helmet himself — I can see the value in it.

I should also point out that Jocelyn's (my wife's) feelings on the matter are unambiguous: she's pretty insistently pro-helmet from the get-go. And so, considering my own ambivalence on the matter, I've gone along with her.

I would be curious to hear from my fellow Catholic Dads on the helmet issue:

At what age, if any, do/did/will you insist your kids wear bike helmets?

Baby Update

The due date for our baby is coming soon.

Officially, it's April 24, but two of our kids have been born at 37 weeks and two at 39, so it will likely be sooner than that.

We're hoping the baby waits to be born until at least April 3. That way, we'll be able to have a home birth, as we've done with our last two.

Otherwise we'll have to give birth at a hospital — please God, no — in which case they'll probably make us do something stupid like give the baby a bath right away.

How Did He Drive Them Out, Anyway?

On this day I'm reminded of something our daughter Teresa said around this time two years ago, when Jocelyn and I were talking about St. Patrick and the legend that he drove all the snakes out of Ireland.

To which Teresa (then four years old) asked, "How did he drive them? In a car?"

I don't even remember how we answered her, but it did give us a big laugh.

Imagine St. Patrick barreling through a narrow road in the Irish countryside — on the left side, of course — in a DeLorean, fighting off a car full of snakes with his crosier whilst somehow still managing to steer.

How's that for a visual?

Oh. So. True.

From Fr. Wade Menezes' Ten Commandments of a Husband and Father [PDF], via the Catholic Dads blog, comes the best counsel I've heard heretofore this day:

A husband’s most important time during any given day is the first five minutes when he gets home from work and the love and attention he shows his wife and children at that time.

Btw, Fr. Menezes also offers as a counterpart the Ten Commandments of a Wife and Mother [PDF].

No Question Left Behind

I just posted this on the Catholic Dads blog:

Some of you fellow inhabitants of Catholic Dads-Land may be familiar with Maureen Wittmann, who is well known in the Catholic homeschooling world for her contributions as an author, blogger, and speaker.

I first got to know Maureen via e-mail after the 2007 March for Life, when she contacted Generations for Life, the pro-life youth outreach I work for, and we helped her and a group of teens start a new pro-life club in Lansing, MI.

She wrote us recently to tell us about a great new blog — written by teens, for teens — called No Question Left Behind.

Originally, No Question Left Behind was supposed to be a book, but those plans fell through. So now, it's a blog.

In the introduction, Maureen (who edited it) writes:

It is my hope that the No Question Left Behind blog is a help to the many teens whose hearts are filled with questions about themselves, their friends, the world, and the Church.

For those of you who have teenage kids, or for those of you (like me) who work with teens, I think you'll find NQLB to be a great resource.

What makes it unique is that teens themselves not only wrote the questions, but also answers to those questions. Those who contributed are a mix of Catholic high school, public high school, and homeschooled students.

There are some great questions, including:

• I don’t see any reason for life. Why should I, or anyone else, go on? What is the meaning of life and why am I on this earth?


• Why would God make some people gay and then tell them that they aren’t allowed to have an intimate relationship or marry? Isn’t that unfair?


• My friend is pregnant and wants to have an abortion. If she has the baby, her whole life will be ruined. She won’t be able to go to college or get a good job. I would never have an abortion, but I don’t see how I can tell my friend that she can’t do whatever she wants to do with her own body.

A post with a new Q & A — there are over 200 in all — appears every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, so visit and visit often.

Esto Vir! Be a Man!

I just posted this on the Catholic Dads Blog:

Today, being the feast of St. Josemaria Escriva, I was prompted to recall what was likely the best advice I've ever received in confession.

A priest of Opus Dei, quoting St. Josemaria, once told me, "Don’t say, 'That person bothers me.' Think: 'That person sanctifies me.'" (Would that I actually put this into practice in my daily life, then I'd really be getting somewhere.)

It seems to me this advice is particularly applicable to us as dads. As the heads of our families—and thus, our domestic churches—it is we who are given the uber-important task of setting the spiritual example in our homes.

Griping and moaning about anyone or anything we find less than agreeable is so facile; any schmuck can do it without exerting the scantest effort.

But refusing to complain—now that takes fortitude. And think of the model we offer our children (and our wives) when we show patience instead of descending into bitter, angry bellyaching.

St. Josemaria again:

Don’t say, “That’s the way I am – it’s my character.” It’s your lack of character. Esto vir! – Be a man!

The two aforesaid pithy counsels are taken from an excellent book (originally published in 1982) of St. Josemaria's called The Way, of which I just came across a review titled, coincidentally, "Esto vir! – Be a man!"

In it, the writer of the article, Joseph Rendini, quotes St. Josemaria's introduction to The Way:

Read these counsels slowly.
Pause to meditate on these thoughts.
They are things that I whisper in your ear – confiding them – as a friend, as a brother, as a father.
And they are being heard by God.
I won’t tell you anything new.
I will only stir your memory,
so that some thought will arise
and strike you;
and so you will better your life
and set out along the ways of prayer
and of Love.
And in the end you will be
a more worthy soul.

Rendini then observes:

By 1975, men had in general stopped speaking to each other in this way – simple, direct, forceful but intimate, the way fathers should talk to their sons about the most important things. This manner of speaking caught my attention.

It caught mine, too. It's for this reason that I continue to return to The Way as a springboard for mental prayer, and why I frequently recommend it to others who are seeking good spiritual reading.

Remember That, Dad? Thanks, Dad

I just posted this on the Catholic Dads blog:


For reasons unbeknownst to me, last month I happened to call to mind a talk I heard at a Camporee (a Boy Scout camping weekend) when I was 13, some 17 years ago.

The context for the talk, as I recall, was that the speaker's dad had died unexpectedly. This fellow, in turn, was recounting an imaginary conversation with his dad, reflecting on all of the good childhood memories he had shared with him. These were the things he wishes he would have been able to actually say to his dad, but never had the chance to.

The lesson of the talk was that each of us should never be hesitant to express our gratitude toward those we love; otherwise, we may lose the chance to do so (in the present life, at least).

I can't recall any of his specific recollections, but I very distinctly recall his refrain, so to speak. After recounting each memory, he said:

Remember that, Dad? Thanks, Dad.

With Father's Day coming up this Sunday, I would encourage each of my fellow Catholic Dads—and, anyone else too, for that matter—to similarly express such gratitude to our own dads for any of the various childhood memories we hold dear.

On Forgiveness

Over at FestungArnulfinger, The Dutchman has a smashingly good post on forgiveness.

One of the points he makes is that "[t]he best way to learn about forgiveness is to have a few kids."

Indeed. Aside, of course, from our having to learn to patiently, constantly, and lovingly forgive them, having kids also teaches us how to be better forgivers in another way.

Inevitably, we as parents fly off the handle and get mad at our kids from time to time. Amazingly, though, kids—little kids especially—have an ability to forgive us almost instantly.

A friend of mine recently pointed out that this is one of one of ways in which we must, as Jesus said, "become like little children".

Parenthood vs. Anti-Parenthood, Revisited

A few years ago, I posted an entry on the Generations for Life blog titled "Parenthood vs. Anti-Parenthood".

Two weeks ago, said post picked up an incoming link from a blogger named Josh who posted his response.

Herein I, in turn, will respond to his response in the second person, which I will also post as a comment on his his original entry.

Josh writes:

The original poster first mentions that anti-parenthood people refer to parents as “Breeders”. Personally, I’ve never heard this term nor the attitude this term implies.

I can't argue with you on that score, but there is, to be sure, a not insignificant portion of the population that feels a palpable contempt for large families. (Incidentally, the Slate article to which I linked in my original post included some examples of this sort of condescension.)

You may also want to check out this post my co-worker Eric Scheidler wrote about the Voluntary Human Extinction Project, a group whose website has a section titled "Biology and Breeding".

Josh writes:

Also it is mentioned that people who choose not to have children are broken and ultimately selfish. I fail to see the validity of this statement. Yes I am broken, but I don’t see how having children will fix this. I am not a selfish person, I give of myself without expecting return often. It doesn’t always have to be as severe as giving my life for another, but I don’t see myself as a selfish person. In fact I see myself as quite generous. So once again, I heavily disagree with this statement.

First, a clarification: What I said was this:

Considering that all men are called to fatherhood, whether biological or spiritual -- and, similarly, considering that all women are called to motherhood, whether biological or spiritual -- this all too common rejection of parenthood yields disastrous consequences on multiple levels because it is rooted in a selfish, "Non serviam" sort of attitude.

Choosing not to have children and rejecting parenthood are too vastly different things.

There are many people I know (priests, sisters, and single people) who have chosen not to have biological children, but they have freely embraced a life of spiritual fatherhood or motherhood toward other people in their lives.

Also, I never said people who choose not to have children are broken. (Incidentally, though, I wouldn't disagree with that, considering that all of us are broken in one way or another.)

Let me also clarify that I in no way believe that having children will ipso facto "fix" one's brokenness.

Speaking personally, though, I will say that having children is the best thing that's ever happened to me, as it has necessarily required me to spend less time focusing on myself (something that I, in my own personal brokenness, feel I am perhaps more inclined to than many others) and more time focusing on them.

Josh writes:

Now that I’ve address two of the biggest statements in that blog, let me move on to my point of view on the subject.

For the longest time I have adamantly been seeking out marriage and family. It’s something I never had growing up. I’ve never been close to my family. I’ve never experienced the unconditional love that a parent is supposed to have for their child. It’s something I missed out on that I feel broke me in some way. So I’ve spent years looking for it. So avidly that I’ve messed up the rest of my life in the meantime. Knowing this it’s quite a shock to me that I am now what has been labeled, “Anti-Parenthood”.

My choice came about for a variety of reasons. I feel there are too many people in the world as it is. I see families with 4 or more children and I don’t understand it. We live in a world of rapidly depleting resources, how can you feel it’s acceptable to reproduce in numbers like that? In China the population is allowed 1 child due to the huge volume of people there. I don’t want the US to get like that. I’m not going to go around telling people to stop reproducing but I do feel some people go a little crazy when it comes to kids.

Due to my childhood I don’t have a strong sense of paternal instincts. I’m sure I would be a very loving father given the chance, it’s just my nature. It’s not even that I dislike kids. I get along with them just fine. I just don’t feel I would do well taking care of a child, mentoring them, being their role model on my own.

First, briefly, regarding population: Far from the world being "overpopulated", the real demographic crisis facing the world today is actually one of underpopulation. (The best talk I ever heard on this subject was given by a British demographer named Andrew Pollard at a conference sponsored by the organization I work for in 2006.)

It goes without saying that I don't know the specifics of the hardships you've experienced in your family life, but it seems to me that what you're saying here echoes the deepest yearnings of every human heart: the desire for authentic relationships, for communion, for belonging, with others.

One of the most important documents that came out of the Catholic Church's Second Vatican Council some four decades ago said, "[M]an...cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself." (Gandhi said basically the same thing when he wrote, "The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.")

You rightly recognize that there is a desire within you to give of yourself, yet you have concerns that you would be able to live up to the serious responsibilities that giving of yourself entails.

These are concerns that all of us men encounter. In response to them, we have only two choices:

1. We can let our imperfections and self-doubts hold us back, and thereby refuse to face up to the challenges of living out our masculine vocation.

Or:

2. We can refuse to let ourselves be mastered by our imperfections and self-doubts; instead, we can resolve to conquer them and to tackle the challenges of living out our masculine vocation.

This is essentially the point Christopher West makes in his book The Good News about Sex and Marriage when he writes:

True love involves risk. It involves sacrifice, pain - in a word, suffering. If we don't think so, we haven't spent much time looking at a crucifix. This is the heavenly Bridegroom giving up his body for his Bride. And husbands are called to love their wives "as Christ loved the Church" (Eph 5:25).

What's our typical reaction? "No! I don't want to. I want the pleasure without the responsibility, without the risk, without the suffering." I came to see very clearly that I resisted the Church's teaching because it cornered me into accepting the cross of Christ - as it should.

I once heard a bishop explain that marriage involves four rings: the engagement ring, two wedding rings, and "suffer-ring." As Fr. Paul Quay says, "It is just this link between true love and suffering that is rejected by sexual sin." The honest person cannot fail to see the truth of this statement. If we reject the cross of Christ, if we refuse to take the risk of loving as Christ loves, we will still eventually end up with what we resisted - suffering. But the suffering that comes from resisting the cross is fruitless, empty, and despairing, while the suffering that comes from embracing the cross leads to the joy of the resurrection, the joy of love and new life.

In your blog entry, you wrote, "...I take the time to try to understand all angles of a situation before I make my opinion."

In that same spirit, I would encourage you to reconsider your perspective.

"How Many Children Do You Want?" Part II

As a follow-up to my post last week on the Catholic Dads blog (which was also cross-posted here), wherein I asked my confreres how they respond to the question, "How many children do you want?" one fellow named Paul offered some particularly wise words—especially the last paragraph:

Is it about what I want?

I mean I want many things, such as, for Law & Order to stop doing episodes with character drama and start solving cases again; getting a sitter and seeing Prince Caspian in the theatre. "Want" like air, fills a vacuum. If I think about my family years down the line, I imagine more kids than I currently have and I like the vision that I see. So in a sense I could answer the question (um...one kid every two years or so...until my wife is about so old...so my answer is...).

But honestly, what bearing does that have on anything? More than wanting children, I love children. I love the children that I have and I will love each and every child that God gifts me and my wife with. What else matters.

(Incidentally, I'm with him on the Law & Order comment, too.)

"How Many Children Do You Want?"

I just posted this at Catholic Dads:

I'm curious to get some perspectives from others in Catholic Dads-Land:

How do you respond to the question, "How many children do you want?"

Having four kids under six, we get this question not infrequently, as I'm sure many of you do as well. Our kneejerk response is usually something along the lines of, "As many as God gives us," or, "I don't know, but we're open to a large family."

While these responses honestly reflect our attitude toward family life, I'm not sure how cogent they are to the ears of someone who thinks the notion that using contraception is a bad idea is akin to the notion that using soap is a bad idea.

Any thoughts?

He Knows What He Likes

I took this picture of our firstborn son on his birthday Tuesday:



Then, after he saw the Biggest. Chocolate chip cookie. Ever.:



...I took this picture:



The fascination of children lies in this: that with each of them all things are remade, and the universe is put again upon its trial. As we walk the streets and see below us those delightful bulbous heads, three times too big for the body, which mark these human mushrooms, we ought always primarily to remember that within every one of these heads there is a new universe, as new as it was on the seventh day of creation. In each of those orbs there is a new system of stars, new grass, new cities, a new sea...

The essential rectitude of our view of children lies in the fact that we feel them and their ways to be supernatural while, for some mysterious reason, we do not feel ourselves or our own ways to be supernatural. The very smallness of children makes it possible to regard them as marvels; we seem to be dealing with a new race, only to be seen through a microscope. I doubt if anyone of any tenderness or imagination can see the hand of a child and not be a little frightened of it. It is awful to think of the essential human energy moving so tiny a thing; it is like imagining that human nature could live in the wing of a butterfly or the leaf of a tree. When we look upon lives so human and yet so small, we feel as if we ourselves were enlarged to an embarrassing bigness of stature. We feel the same kind of obligation to these creatures that a deity might feel if he had created something that he could not understand.

But the humorous look of children is perhaps the most endearing of all the bonds that hold the Cosmos together. Their top-heavy dignity is more touching than any humility; their solemnity gives us more hope for all things than a thousand carnivals of optimism; their large and lustrous eyes seem to hold all the stars in their astonishment; their fascinating absence of nose seems to give to us the most perfect hint of the humour that awaits us in the kingdom of heaven. —G.K. Chesterton, A Defence of Baby Worship

A Geburtstag at Haus Jansen

Our firstborn son, Jose (aka Joe, Joey, and Joejoe) turns one year old today!

Interestingly, Joe's amazingly easy-to-remember birthday — 5/6/07 — is one of only twelve dates every century that consists of three such directly sequential numbers.

Here are two of my favorite pictures of him. The first was taken Christmas Eve, when he's sporting his cool new hat:



This one was taken more recently (although I forget exactly when):



Maligayang kaarawan, Jose!

They Know How to Pick 'Em

For the second time in as many years, our family watched the running of the Kentucky Derby. (This now officially qualifies the pastime as a Haus Jansen "tradition".)

Prior to the race, I said the names of the some of the horses, and after hearing a few of them, our five-year old daughter Teresa knew that Big Brown was going to win. Four-year old Cecilia concurred.

Why? For no other reason than that his name is Big Brown.

Given my first name, I tried to sell them on Colonel John, but they wouldn't be deterred.

And, of course, the rest is history.

Cry Rooms

I just posted the following on the Catholic Dads blog:

I'm curious to get the input from others in Catholic Dads-Land on the subject of cry rooms in churches.

Which of the following most accurately reflects your attitude toward cry rooms?

• (a) Cry rooms are an abomination before the Lord.




• (b) Cry rooms are a pretty neat idea.




• (c) Meh. I don't have an opinion.




• (d) Other: __________________________________________.

Personally, I am incurably in the (a) camp: Cry rooms are an abomination before the Lord.

The idea that a parish would tacitly — or, in some (many?) cases, not so tacitly — encourage families with young children to physically isolate themselves from the rest of the congregation seems rather inimical to the Faith (cf. Mark 10:13-15).

I recently read an article about a Chicago priest, Father Matt Foley,* who has volunteered to serve as an Army chaplain in Iraq, and how his parishioners at St. Agnes of Bohemia, to whom he has greatly endeared himself, will miss him.

The article notes made it known at the parish "how he enjoyed hearing babies cry during mass because they sounded full of life."

And how.

Now, I'm not saying that if any of our issue are throwing a tantrum or screaming bloody murder during Mass that we shouldn't bring them to the back of church for a time until they calm down.

But this to me seems markedly different from the idea that a church should have an entire room set aside for purposes of segregating families with young children from the rest of the congregation.

* (As a footnote, this article confirmed something I had heard several years ago about the aforesaid priest, Father Matt Foley, from someone I knew who used to teach at his parish's grade school: "Up through college, Foley was a troublemaker, a partyer. As a political science major at Marquette University, he played rugby with fellow student and soon-to-be-famous comedian Chris Farley, known for his life of excess. Farley, who died in 1997, named one of his most revered 'Saturday Night Live' characters, a bumbling motivational speaker, after Foley.")

"Not Your Father's Pornography"

A few months ago on the Catholic Dads Blog a post appeared (which, in turn, referred to this post by Father Valcheck on the blog Adam's Ale) about the unspeakable dangers inflicted on a father's children if they come into contact with his pornography (or any pornography, for that matter).

The latter elicited some insightful comments that are well worth checking out.

I came across these posts just a day or two after reading an article in the January 2008 issue of First Things titled "Not Your Father's Pornography".

My contribution to the comments section noted that Byassee's article is an excellent primer on just how bad the let's-see-how-far-we-can-push-the-limits porn of today is compared to that of, say, a generation ago. (It also has some beautiful reflections on the theological meaning of what sex really is.)

At the time, however, the full article was not available.

It is now.

If you read nothing else today, read that.

[Cross-posted at Catholic Dads]