With all the excitement of the new pope being chosen today, it’s easy to think about the wonderful visit that Pope Francis made to Philadelphia in 2015. Coinciding with the World Meeting of Families, he spent the weekend of September 26-27 crisscrossing the city: from the Saint Charles Borromeo Seminar in the suburbs to the Art Museum steps, where he said one of several masses, including South Philly, full of Italian immigrants, and to a jail, the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility.
Even though my parents were not religious, growing up in Spain meant that I was baptized and took my first communion in the Catholic Church. I attended Our Lady of Loreto, a religious School run by French Ursuline nuns, although I had a special dispensation to miss daily mass. Once in the United States, since Franco was not watching over our shoulders, I didn’t consider myself Catholic. My two daughters grew up in their father’s Episcopal Church, while I often stayed home studying and writing.
But when Pope Francis’ visit was announced, my Spanish upbringing inside me stirred up and I decided to join the hundreds of volunteers who showed up at the Convention Center to be documented and trained, such an American experience. We were interviewed, given all kinds of name tags and instructions along with our uniform, an orange tee-shirt. I was assigned to Independence Hall in historical Philadelphia, right around Washington Square, my own neighborhood.
The center of the city was completely transformed. Most streets were closed to traffic, and huge barricades blocked the entrance to parks, museums and official buildings. 
People, though, were walking everywhere, groups of nuns, entire families dressed up, gathering in the streets, filling all the spaces free from cars. It really was like a huge block party. Several school bands, attending the World Meeting of Families paraded, adding to the festivities. Saturday morning, when I wasn’t assigned to work, I ventured from Market Street to City Hall to see how close I could get to the popemobile, which in this case was a Jeep.
The main highways and bridges were also closed, so on Sunday morning I walked with my friend Helen all the way to New Jersey on the Benjamin Franklin Bridge and back. That evening she had a big party for the volunteers and for anyone who could walk to her place. The entire weekend, Philadelphia genuinely felt like the city of brotherly love!
The closest I got to Pope Francis was around Independence Mall, next to the Jewish Museum, when his popemobile stopped and he got off to kiss some young children and greet the Latino families who had been waiting for him.
I was supposed to interpret for them, but no English was needed. The pope switched to Spanish to the delight of the crowd around him. I could hear his thick “porteño” (Argentinian from Buenos Aires) accent clearly. He greeted everyone as if they were friends.
I knew that Pope Francis was a progressive pontiff, but his sense of humor got the better of him. And, all of the sudden, he started telling mother-in-law jokes, one after another, adding to everyone’s merriment.