Father Richardson handed me a faded document, Xeroxed several times, on Vatican letterhead entitled, "Letter to the Bishops of the Catholic Church on the Pastoral Care of Homosexual Persons." It had been issued on October, 1986--- and as I began to read it, Mrs. Espinosa yanked it out of my hands.

"Please understand Mrs. Espinosa," said the Priest, "we are very progressive here at St. Anthony's but I do have a boss in Rome."

"And do you always do what your boss tells you to do?"

"If I want to keep my job--- yes, I do."

"But isn't your job to do the Lord's work?"

The Father was silent until finally he mustered, "Well, yes. Of course."

"Then what's the problem, hon?" asked Mrs. Espinosa.

I knew we were chasing our tails. "If I may interrupt here," I said, "Father Richardson, I understand your position."

"You do Drew? Then explain it to me." Said Mrs. Espinosa, staring me down.

"It's not him." I replied.

"Oh, I see. He only works here, is that it? Well, lemme tell you something. I've been involved with my church for years--- feeding the homeless, helping people, y'know--- doing what I can in the name of our greatest Father. He has stuck by me at my hardest times--- why only two weeks ago I failed my driving test and I went into the parking lot, prayed for guidance, and low and behold I paralleled parked like an Indy driver."

"Mrs. Espinosa." Chimed in Father Richardson.

"I'm not finished. And let me tell you, when I heard what my son and Drew wanted to do, I prayed to God for guidance. Now I love my son, but I had no idea God's response would be so loud. I mean, there I was doing some grocery shopping when suddenly I saw these really big tomatos. I mean huge--- and big and red and I knew they had to be from Jersey. No, I didn't see the Virgin Mary in the tomato skin. But as I picked one up, a stranger behind me said, 'Those are beautiful tomahtoes.' And in that moment I realized we both saw the same thing, only we called it by a different name."

I couldn't help but smile because here was Eric's mother comparing us to vegetables when she should have been comparing us to fruits. And then I saw it.

Something in Father Richardson's face changed. Perhaps this is what Mrs. Espinosa was chasing after, perhaps this is what motivates her to continue biting like some rabid Pitbull until her prey finally gives in.

"I see." Mumbled the Father.

And while that may not seem like much, it was the WAY he said it that gave clarity, because in a strange way, it had nothing to do with us and all to do with him. He was silent, taking it in, and Mrs. Espinosa knew that.

She remained silent.

"I'm sorry, but there's just nothing I can do." He finally responded.

"All right then. Drew, let's go."

Mrs. Espinosa stood up, shook his hand, and then moved quickly to the front door. As I said good-bye to the Father, he kind of looked at me sadly---almost as if to say, "Wait, don't go."

I wasn't sure what that was about, but when I got outside, Mrs. Espinosa calmly said, "He's going to break. One more try at him and I'll make him crack like an egg on Sunday morning. We're going to have your wedding at THIS church."

This Priest had a story, and if anyone could break him--- it would be Eric's mom.