In October, my oldest son turned 12 and was ordained to the office of deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood. Ordaining him was a sacred experience that invited memories from all categories of my mental card catalog.
Some were so old, I had to use the Dewey Decimal System.
It was the winter of 1983 and my family was living in the colorful countryside south of downtown Charlottesville, Virginia. I was finally 12 years old and after watching my older brothers pass, bless and prepare the sacrament each Sunday in our congregation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, it was finally my turn.
But the first month was a disaster.
I never quite knew where to go, how to hold the tray or whether or not I was allowed to smile back at Mom when I handed her the sacrament.