November 11, 2011
“Signora!” called out a red-faced man in baroque Scicli. “Come here!”
I sauntered over, and he beckoned a young priest to his side.
“Please take our picture.”
I obliged.
Afterwards the man said, “Do you know why I asked you to take our picture?”
“No, why?”
“Because,” the man beamed, his face reddening even more, “this priest, he is my son.”
