Mortification strikes when you least expect it. Like when you go to pick up your oldest son from camp, and you sit with all the parents and watch as the collected campers sing, and the camp director gives a speech about what camp means to her, and the counselors distribute ceremonial walking sticks. And your youngest son, who is bored to agony, waits for a quiet moment in the ceremony to announce to the congregation: “I feel like my head is being ripped off!” And you pray for the earth to swallow you up.