Not long ago I was at a reception for seminarians. After the vespers service, people were milling around and talking with one another at the reception, including the bishop, who was engaging in conversation with many people. Had everyone attempted to kiss his ring before speaking, he wouldn’t have made much progress.
Back when I was a teen, I used to go to daily Mass in the bishop’s chapel adjoining his residence with my mother and sometimes my brothers, because it was closer than our parish church. Once, we had entered and were kneeling when mom said, “Oh, I forgot to wake up your brother–we have to go.” We got up to leave just as the bishop was entering. He thought we were leaving because he was late getting started. He stopped to say a few words to my mother. Putting her arm around him, she said, “Oh, it’s okay honey, I have to go wake up my son.”
When we got outside, she said to me. “Oh! Maybe I shouldn’t have called the bishop ‘honey.’” “That’s okay mom,” I said, “you call everyone honey.”
But she never kissed his ring either.