Where’s Buddha? A Story of Socks, Spirituality, and Standing Your Ground

I once worked for a young priest—let’s call him Father 33-Buttons. He was part of a group of clergy who longed for the “glory days” before Vatican II. These men had a few colorful nicknames, but out of respect for the many dedicated priests I’ve worked with, I’ll stick with my favorite: the 33-button guys. They wore cassocks with 33 buttons, each one symbolizing a year that Christ walked the earth. Their spiritual style leaned traditional, and their unofficial leader was none other than the Darth Vader of sorts himself—Cardinal Raymond Burke.

Father 33-Buttons made it clear from day one: he was the boss. Now, for those who don’t know me, I have a flair for the “funner” things in life. I wear novelty socks and cartoon characters, superhero ties, you name it. I carry a Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine lunchbox. I have a bobblehead collection nearing 100 pieces strong, and a shelf filled with religious artifacts, including a few playful ones, such as Pope bobbleheads and saint statues from every school I’ve served at.

And yes, I also have Buddhas.

Our family has an adopted cousin from Nepal—Cousin Ganesh—who introduced us to mindfulness and Eastern philosophy. Naturally, that included a few statues of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha. Over time, two of my favorite bosses even developed a nickname for me: “Baby Buddha.” I always hoped it was a nod to my spiritual vibe, though I suspect it may have had something to do with my girth.

One day, Father 33-Buttons walked into my office and pointed to my bobblehead collection. “Do these define you?” he asked. Sheepishly, I said no. “Good,” he replied. “Take them home.”

A week later, he asked about my cartoon ties. “Do those define you?” Again, I said not necessarily. “Do you own adult ties?” he asked. I assured him I did—thanks to my cousin Mike Madalon, who generously rotates out his stylish business ties and sends me a dozen sweet ones each year. “Great,” Father said. “Start wearing them.”

Then came the final round. “Do the rest of these fun items define you?” he asked. This time, I stood firm. “Father, I believe they do.” He paused, then said, “I’m sorry, but I’d like you to box them up and take them home.”

I drew the line at the Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine lunchbox. “That stays,” I said. And thank goodness—I held my ground. That lunchbox had been with me in every office and classroom for nearly three decades. It was more than a container for sandwiches; it was a symbol of joy, consistency, and connection with students.

As I packed up my toys, bobbleheads, and non-traditional religious items, I came across a few small Buddha statues made by students during Genius Hour using a 3D printer. We were just past the Christmas season, and during Advent, students had enjoyed searching for the Elf on the Shelf in my office. Inspired by that, I created a new game for Father 33-Buttons: Where’s Buddha?

The Buddha was only 3.5 inches tall, made from turquoise filament, and he traveled all over the office. Father never could quite spot him. To this day, when I see that little Buddha on my shelf, I smile. He reminds me to strive for enlightenment, to remain humble, and to reach my full potential.

So here’s my question for you:
Have you ever had a moment when enough was enough—when you stood your ground and stayed true to yourself?

Do you have things in your life that define you—not just objects, but symbols of who you are and what you value?

I’d love to hear your stories. Drop a comment, share a memory, or tell me about your own “Scooby-Doo lunchbox” moment.

Namaste.