Incredulity . . . HOOOOOOOO!

WARNING: If you're looking to engage me in a serious discussion regarding the legal dealings of Satan, I can only do my best not to laugh directly in your face.

I should have posted that warning on my forehead two seconds before I chose to engage in the rather interesting conversation I had with a co-worker yesterday.

Nancy and I were working off site yesterday (sounds offical huh?) and she offered me a ride back to the office, which was lovely cause it's cold as shit in DC (currently, my children are playing hide and seek in 3-4 inches of falling snow) and I really didn't want to take another seven city-block hike back to the metro. Minutes later, we're in her car and I, very openly start judging her based on her CD collection. Like most Americans, she owns several Jay-Z albums including his last sub-par opus "Blueprint 3."

That's when she hits me with:

"I love Jay-Z but I'm a little worried about him."

"Why?"

"Those rumors that he's a devil worshipper."
(Didn't hear those rumors? Go here for the madness)

At THAT moment I should have kept my mouth shut or changed the subject, but I didn't. I couldn't. I was compelled to stay. Compelled to disobey (movie fans should know that line).  I had the overwhelming desire to expose Nancy's belief in the devil and leave it ruins along side other broken myths like Santa Claus and good Maxwell albums. So . . . I continued.

No need to recount each line of our back and forth -- her insisting upon the possibility of Jay-Z's Satan worshipping and I speaking sanely -- since it all ends up at the turning point, the question I couldn't resist and the answer I knew was coming.

"Do you," I asked, "believe in the devil?"

"Yes," she said without hesistation.

Yes

"And, I assume, you also believe one can actually sell your soul to the devil?" In reality, I'm sure my face did not ACTUALLY look like Count Dracula licking his chops over some poor peasant girl's neck, but, goddamn it, it felt that way.

"Yes I do"

Oh god yes

"Why, you don't believe in the devil?" She shot back.

And that's when I let her have it. The whole kit and caboodle, the whole nine yards, the two piece and biscuit. It was the "I Have a Dream" speech for heathens. Oh, you should have BEEN there.

To put it mildly, she was flabbergasted and responded with the usual litany of half-questions:
"What do you . . ."
"How do you . . . "
"Where do you get your morals  . . . "

"Well," she said, "you DO believe in God right?"

A good question that I don't have a clear answer for. If I do believe in "something" it's a universal force barely withing human comprehension -- like gravity. But mostly that question is about my belief in a paternalistic, Christian God -- something I do not believe in.

"So you've never been brought to your knees, huh?" She posited, somewhat smugly.

What she meant was, you don't believe in God because you've never had to. If the conditions were just shitty enough, I would become a believer. It's the spiritual equivalent of "you just haven't found the right guy yet." Sounds like a bad proposition -- "You'll love God when you've lost your hands in a dangerous pinocle game and your wife leaves you for Steve Buscemi." It's the "last resort God" or the old testament God who fucked over Job's life to prove to the devil (who God MADE) that he still was loyal to him. All in all, not the best pitch to make when slinging faith.

To be clear, I felt a little aggressed upon and shot back.

"You mean like losing my father last May?"

That shut her up.

I can't be sure why I was so intent on arguing over the merits of faith, but I was a dog with a bone -- quite rude considering she was giving me a ride. But I couldn't help it. I almost felt the need to apologize, but I didn't.

If there's a prayer circle in my office on Monday, I'll know I should have said "sorry."

If There is a God, He Looks Like . . .

Danny Glover.

Yes, Morgan Freeman is a good choice but I have to believe God has a really kick-ass dental plan and wouldn't let his teeth look like his dentist is employed at Shawshank.

Apparently my oldest daughter agrees, or at least, THINKS God should look like Danny Glover.

How do I know, you ask?

I blame Black History Month. Or at least the Black History Month posters in her school that cause her to ask questions about Martin Luther King and Whites Only water fountains.

Well, it all starts with racism. Or at least, my definition of it. Even in this age of Obama, and the fact that we live in a predominately Black area, my wife and I still feel it necessary to tell our daughters about good ole' USA-Prime racism.

So last night, as I was reading "The Story of Ruby Bridges" to my two girls, the question of racism came up.

My eldest asked why the little girl wasn't allowed to go to school with the other children.

"Because back then White people didn't think Black people should go to school with them."

"But she's not Black, she's brown."

"Well, that's what we call ourselves."

I won't bother you with the back and forth about the actual color of people but you might imagine it took some time.

And then, from left field, she asked "what color was God when he was a man?"

CUE THE RECORD SKIP

First off, that's a clear Christian concept. Not angels, not the la-di-da big poppa in the sky idea. No, that was a question born of a Christian agenda. One I suspect she got from hanging out with her friends across the street -- you know the Jehovah's witnesses.

Instead of tying her to a chair and interrogating her about this new wrinkle in her growing theology, I asked simply:

"Do you mean Jesus?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he was brown like you and me." Now, I don't know that he looked like Mekhi Phifer or Kanye West, but he probably looked more like Barack than Barry Manilow.

She chewed it over a minute and then replied:

"Good."

Well, I can't argue there.

My Daughter is a Believer -- I Think

Stop the presses! No sooner had I pressed "publish" on my last blog (luxuriate in its heathenistic deliciousness right here), did my wife hand me my eldest daughter's Thanksgiving assigment for her second grade class.

First off, it's precious -- as is pretty much everything she does.

But what surprised me is what she is thankful for.

She said all the things I expected like; "The food I eat," "for my pets," "my mom and dad" and "friends."

And then . . .

She writes "I am thankfull for god" -- which the teacher corrected with a capital "G."

Honestly, I have no idea where that came from -- perhaps my mother-in-law's bible story campaign is actually working. I mean, it was barely a month ago when she asked if she was a Christian and found out her father was not. So maybe she is legitimately looking for spirituality or, as I suspect, is responding to living in America which sort of makes you a default believer (Did I mention we said grace at our company thanksgiving potluck?). I mean, God is in our pledge and on our money, so I shouldn't be surprised that its in my daughter's homework. But for some reason I am.

From what my parents told me, my only inquiries about God were all tied to Star Wars (read that tender piece of hilarity right here), so either I'm not normal or my daughter is, but somehow I think it's me.

Bible Toys Suck Part 2

So I wasn't really sure how my parents would take the blog, seeing as they are often cited in them as being fairly bad parents -- at least by Black standards -- since they didn't bother to indoctrinate me with any religion.

Yeah, turns out they love the blog -- they share it with their friends, laugh out loud. All the things I want YOU to do. They don't leave comments, so I suppose they're not perfect but, hey neither are any of you (starting to get the hint there thirdsies?).

Anyway, we were at the beach during our yearly summer excursion when I birthed the masterpiece "Bible Toys Suck." You know it and love it.

I shared it with my parents who laughed. A lot.

Shortly after reading it, they ran out to get some puzzles for my children.

They returned with two bible puzzles -- The Ten Commandments and Parting of the Red Seas -- at which we all laughed heartily which got me to wonder, if there is a hell, is laughing at bible puzzles something that gets you there faster. I don't suppose God ever thought about such an occurrence as cheap pharmacy toys hadn't been around back when God was born/invented. But surely in his/her/it's supposed infinite wisdom, I imagine there has to be a punishment meted out for mocking the sanctity of a $2, 12-piece puzzle featuring a biblical miracle.

Jesus -- I hope I'm wrong (in this case).