The Last Unicorn

December’s Feast of the Immaculate Conception was almost, but not quite, a perfect day. Some might remember I shared photos of our afternoon of rosary making at the time, mentioning Mass and a blessing afterward, but never hinting about a partially ill-fated trip to a diner in between.

Daddy was working late, and Mass hours away, so I pulled our hulking van into a narrow spot outside a local eatery. Agnes and Theresa fell into their usual routines, zipping a jacket here and unfastening a strap there, and within moments we were out of the car, across the frosty parking lot, and huddling inside the diner for warmth.

As we approached the register, the hostess’ eye darted left and right, taking us in with what looked to me (and I hate to say this) like a glint of disapproval. “Eight?” she asked, with a straight face and arched brow.

“Yes, thank you,” I smiled back, causing her to snap an oversized pile of menus to her chest.

She led the way briskly to a half moon booth, and the children slid into their seats. Baby Eileen was sleeping soundly, and little Maureen contentedly drew on a piece of paper, sipping an impossibly large glass of frosty water without spilling a drop. She giggled when Margaret fashioned a simple hat for her from a paper placemat.

Toward the end of the uneventful meal, an elderly couple at the next table caught my eye. The wife beamed affectionately, saying, “Your family is lovely,” and I gave her my earnest thanks.

As we were leaving, I passed the baby to twelve-year-old Agnes and lingered a moment leaving a tip. The couple waved goodbye to each child in turn, warmly complimenting our family once more, and mentioning that they were themselves parents of five.

I reached the register still smiling and found our formerly chilly hostess had thawed considerably. “Would it be all right if I gave the children lollipops?” she asked, reaching for a plastic bucket. I nodded readily, wondering if the fact that we had not turned out to be disruptive had anything to do with her change in demeanor. Making a mental note to point this out to the children in the car later, I gladly paid the check.

Twelve-year-old Agnes was still carrying Eileen as I pocketed my change, and I noticed that two teenage girls working behind the counter had stopped her to talk. I could see Agnes was smiling and assumed they were admiring the baby, when a snippet of the conversation reached my ears. The first girl, clad in dismal double spaghetti straps asked, “Is she your baby?”

Agnes beamed back, “Yes, she is,” with a smile of unreserved sisterly pride.

“But,” said the second spaghetti-strapped girl in a tone impatient for clarification, “Is she your baby?”

Agnes appeared perplexed by the question. I understood all too well and strode over in an instant to take Eileen, thanking Agnes for holding her, and saying in a voice remarkably calm considering the heat rising up within me, “She is only twelve years old,” and managing—though I know not how—a weak smile. The pair met my gaze with unabashed worldliness, lingering as if this response had not yet answered the question, so I hastened to add, “They are sisters.” The first girl grunted “Oh!” and the other nodded and shrugged, as I ushered my young ones away from the counter, past the register, and out into the freezing darkness for warmth.

It has been a few months now, and I’d almost succeeded in suppressing this troubling little exchange, remembering it vaguely as I would a belt once snagged in the doors of a departing train. Then this week, in considering the words of the Catechism, “Sacred Scripture and the Church’s traditional practice see in large families a sign of God’s blessing and the parents’ generosity” [CCC 2373], I began to realize what really happened in that diner. It seems the teenage girls were completely unprepared to see a large young family, and the experience left them groping for an explanation. In their world, it was easier to understand a twelve-year-old mother than a mother of seven. It was as if they had stumbled upon a unicorn for the first time and could make neither head nor tail of the beast.

At the end of the day, our reception varied by generation. The elderly couple hearkened back to a time when unicorns were plenty and felt a wave of loving, hopeful nostalgia upon seeing one of the dear old creatures alive and well. The hostess (a woman about my age) expected the unicorn to tramp its dirty hoof prints about, but was kind enough to offer a conciliatory carrot when she discovered it harmless enough. The teenage girls, sad to say, could not begin to fathom a mythical unicorn come to life in their midst and reflexively probed the base of its horn for Velcro or straps, dismissing the thing as a sort of parlor trick.

It seems to me there must be a connection made to the Feast of the Immaculate Conception--a day we rejoice in Our Lady’s purity from the moment of her conception—the necessary pre-cursor to yesterday’s Feast of the Annunciation. As a mother, my heart aches to recall the hardened countenances of those teens, jaded and faded during what ought to be the fairest bloom of their youth. Jesus once said, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were put around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” Two thousand years later, He has entrusted parents to fasten the millstone round the neck of the impurities of today’s culture—fashion, music, movies, magazines, and any evils blighting our children and quenching the holy light of innocence in their eyes. If we fail in this, what will He say to us?

My thoughts turn to the beauty and gentleness of the elderly woman, with her feminine dress and ready smile, compared to the cool crassness of the teenage girls. She was like a verdant, venerable oak fed on spring water alongside two wizened young saplings in acid. What a sorrowful thing it is when seventy year olds seem younger, fresher and more full of hope than seventeen year olds.

Our beautiful Catechism guides us in what it so rightly calls “The Battle for Purity”:

“Purity requires modesty, an integral part of temperance.” [CCC 2521.]

“Modesty is decency. It inspires one’s choice of clothing. It keeps silence or reserve where there is evident risk of unhealthy curiosity. It is discreet.” [CCC 2522.]

“Christian purity requires a purification of the social climate. It requires of the communications media that their presentations show concern for respect and restraint.” [CCC 2525.]

When it comes to our children, the Battle must be fought and won by stalwart parents. Let us see to it the saplings in our care are fed on the sunshine and spring water known as Faith and Purity.

And may we always remind them to believe in unicorns.

Pearls from the Catechism:

Article 9, The Ninth Commandment, sections 2514 to 2533 [particularly Part II “The Battle for Purity”].

“To become the mother of the Savior, Mary ‘was enriched by God with gifts appropriate to such a role.’ The angel Gabriel at the moment of the annunciation salutes her as ‘full of grace.’ In fact, in order for Mary to be able to give the free assent of her faith to the announcement of her vocation, it was necessary that she be wholly borne by God’s grace.” [CCC 490.]

“The most Blessed Virgin Mary was, from the first moment of her conception, by a singular grace and privilege of almighty God and by virtue of the merits of Jesus Christ, Savior of the human race, preserved immune from all stain of original sin.” [CCC 491.]

Comments

[Jennifer]

This is my favorite post, perhaps ever; one that can change lives. Thank you Alice.

[betty]

WOW!!! What a wonderful post! What wisdom and understanding you have of your Catholic faith and our God! How blest your family is to have you to guide them to their Destination! I'm proud that you reference the CCC so often! How proud I am that you are one of the Catholic homeschooling moms that I have come to know via blogosphere!

OK, now I'm off to dry the tears and print out this post to hand to my wonderful daughters to aid them in raising their little ones!

Blessings to you and yours!

[Lorri]

Beautiful! Well said. I would say more, but really, you've said it all.

[Maria]

Incredible post, Alice!

[Therese]

Alice your stories make me feel like I am sitting with
you THANK-YOU!

[Cheryl M.]

Beautiful, Beautiful post, Alice!

[KC]

This really is a wonderful post. I can't even imagine being so worldly to think that your sweet Agnes was the mother. How terribley sad for those girls.

And, I'm sure Agnes was so proud because Eileen is her baby (albeit sister).

[Kristen Laurence]

Those poor girls. What prayers they need from us, especially if their own mothers who are the primary recipients of their youthful admiration, fail to provide a good example.

May Our Lord have mercy on those without mothers to guide.

[Beck]

This post brought me to tears. Lovely and so, so sad.

[Kimberlee]

Thank you, once again, for more treasures and pearls.

[Melissa]

Alice, this was the most incredible post. Thank you so much for sharing another gem with us.

[Suzanne Temple]

What a sorrowful thing it is when seventy year olds seem younger, fresher and more full of hope than seventeen year olds.

Very true. I've had this same thought. Beautiful post, Alice.

[MaryM]

What an amazing post - the unicorn analogy is so incredibly insightful and vivid, Alice.

I have personal experience of being in your daughter's shoes, even 30 years ago, when my baby brother was born. Here I was a 12 year old big sister who on several occasions someone thought I was the mother. And I was a scrawny, skinny young looking pre-teen! It is sad that we live in a world where the idea of a little girl being a mother is not shocking. As a culture over the last several decades we have lost a sense of innocence of youth.

[Jennifer]

Incredible, Alice. So very beautiful.

[matilda]

What a lovely reflection, Alice!

[helene]

Let's hear it for seventy-year-olds! Good to know in Heaven we will all be the same age.

[MacBeth]

Yup. Unicorns. That's where it's at.

[Mary Ellen Barrett]

Wonderful dear, you are so beautiful and wise. It's a privelege to know you.

[Barbara]

Beautiful story, Alice. I love your analogy to Unicorns. Very poetic.

[willa]

Alice, that is a wonderfully well written vignette. You described the characters so clearly, I felt like I was there. It particularly resonates with me because my daughter, then 13, had exactly the same experience several times when carrying her baby brother Patrick. I love the way you tied it in with unicorns and the catechism's teachings on purity.

[Valerie]

Lovely post, Alice. You should be proud of that lovely pure now 13 yo girl you are raising. I know my 12yo would have given the same innocent response to their worldly question. We certainly have a big job maintaining the innocence of our children in today's world.

[Karen E.]

Oh, Alice, this post is magnificent. Thank you.

[Margaret in Minnesota]

We are both the richest and poorest of nations, aren't we? And to tell you the truth, Alice, I don't know whether to take the unicorn by the horns, as it were, or to hide my head in the sand like an ostrich.

You are right to indict the fashion, music, movies, and magazines of today. Frankly, I am pretty naive when it comes to knowing what all is "out" there. Sure, we see the magazines at the check-out counter--and I usually stare at them in my distracted horror--and then my sweet 6-year-old flips all the objectionable magazines backwards in the rack to spare her mother.

I love it when she does this! :)

And I love my girls in their beautiful innocence so much it hurts. Do you know what I think, dear Alice? I believe that a family can be 100% pro-life and pro-chastity, but without the crown of modesty they're courting DANGER. I've seen it so much in my own family...immodesty leads to impurity and impurity leads to heartbreak.

Thank you for taking on this battle with us, Alice. You are working tirelessly for Our Lord, 'tis true.

[Theresa]

Beautiful! But then I always read something beautiful here.Thank you!

[Megan Elizabeth]

Not to say that our culture's not messed up--But I'm 17 and I'm a firm believer in unicorns. I want one of my own someday.