I am one of the 23 sixth-graders marching over from St. Cecilia School to the church for our semi-monthly confession to Father Gallagher. He’s a pretty cool priest and also my football coach.

We enter, taking over two pews in the back. As usual, I’m attempting to contrive venial sins I feel would be appropriate for a boy my age to confess. My palms are sweaty. Gary Mulhall is stepping out of the confessional box and now it’s my turn to seek sacramental forgiveness.
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