When my mom was in grade 8 in Clarence Creek, she wrote her catechism exam, which tested students' knowledge of the doctrine of the Catholic Church.

Some time later, when the rankings of the various students throughout the parish of Ste Félicité were being announced, Olivette listened to the names of students who had achieved distinction, followed by those who had achieved grande distinction. The latter was typically the highest level reached. Still, she did not hear her name. Then the priest said, "We have three students who did the best." Olivette knew instantly that she must be one of the three. She would later learn that she had gotten every question right—her only fault being a single misspelled word.

For her achievement, she was given the choice of a prize. She opted for a statue of Jesus, which reminded her of a little cloth medallion her father owned. Olivette still has both the statue and the medallion, which is her only memento of her father.

Had my mom not told me these stories, I would never have known the significance of the two objects. What they are is less important to me than who owned and cherished them. And now I cherish them as well.