The pope of my childhood

The pope of my childhood

Twelve years ago, I was nine years old, playing on the beach and savoring the final moments of spring break 2013. Unexpectedly, my mom shouted from her beach chair, “We have a new pope!”  I dashed over to her chair, interested in this exclamation.  “He’s a Jesuit, that’s weird,” she continued. I just nodded, not sure what those words meant, and I ran back to my sandcastle, more intrigued by my contraption than this ecclesial news.  Little did I …