Kids Say the Darndest Things!

(I couldn't find a great image for this post, so I chose this one which KINDA fits, but hey, you don't come here for the pictures. You come for the text baby! Read on.)


Fridays come with ritual. 


On my way home from work, I call and order a large Pepperoni pizza (I've even divined the perfect point on my route home to call in my order so that's its ready when I get there.) My children meet me in the garage with an odd mixture of happiness and disappointment. They're happy that I've brought pizza, but upset that it's not Papa Johns -- a brand my wife hates. My youngest, then claims that (despite years of evidence to the contrary) she doesn't eat pepperoni. I reassure her that she does and we go back and forth like that until she's in tears and begrudgingly eats the pizza. Seriously, this is every week.


We then settle down in our bedroom, my wife and I on our bed, the kids on the floor and eat gooey, pepperoni pizza as we watch a "family show" -- usually the "Avatar" TV show on Netflix. 


Last Friday was no different, except that my youngest said something that would make any Christian weep.


Somehow, my wife and I were discussing the bible -- honestly not sure why.


And my youngest, who has a talent for keying in on conversations she should not be a part of, pipes up.

"Hey! I know the bible!" 


It was as if she had just realized we had friends in common. Her face was beaming with five-year old pride. 


That's not the bad part. 


"Oh yeah, honey," I said, feeling a blog entry brewing in her next response. "What is the bible?"

Suddenly, she became a bit less enthused. Perhaps she hadn't anticipated being put on the spot. Maybe she didn't expect this parent-administered theological pop quiz as her eyes were now cast to the floor and her voice had gone all small.


"Um, isn't that the book with all the rules? The one that tells you all the stuff you can't do?"


Uh, yeah. Pretty much on the spot description. 


OK, not really, but sadly my daughter's interpretation of the bible is American Christanity's biggest problem -- perception. 


Kind of like Republicans, Christians are known as the party of "No." Actually, they're more like "NO!" Sex? "No!", Muslims? "Nope!", Gays? "Noooooooooo!," Harry Potter? "No thanks." Nerds?"HELL no!"  Point is, powerful mantras like "love your neighbor as yourself" have been replaced by "It's Adam and Eve, Not Adam and Steve." While much funnier and rhythmic, it doesn't have that universal appeal you expect from a 2,000-year old religion. Sadly, they have chosen to define their faith by highlighting what they won't stand for instead of what they do. Thus, Christians are defined by the rules they break. So every time a senator gets caught in a gay scandal -- which I like to call "Tuesdays" -- the general public points to the behavior and calls Christianity a fraud filled with hypocritical blow hards who want every one to follow rules they themselves are not willing to follow. 


I mean, if my five year old daughter, who can't even recall what she eats from from week to week, is getting this message, I highly suggest Christians consider a new marketing plan. I highly suggest R. Kelly's. That guy pissed on a school girl on tape and he's still got fans -- female ones. Now that's a fucking miracle. 

The Visit I've Been Waiting For

Not five minutes ago, I saw an older Asian man and a tall, younger African guy approaching our door.

"Jehovah's Witnesses," my wife said almost dissmissively, as if she'd seen this movie before. And to be fair, she has. Like, a million times.

Nevertheless, if two men approach my door, I like to be there to open it.

"Hi, I'm David" the Asian guy offers his hand. "And this is [Joe]." In actuality his name was something more African but I can't remember it.

David explained he was here to do a survey and asked if I had time for it, which, I said I did just HOPING this had something to do with Jesus.

"Ok, do you and your family currently belong to a church?" (YAHTZEE!)

"No, we don't."

"Do you believe that world would be a better place if we all followed the word of the Bible?"

"No, not really." Now, to be honest I DO think the world would be better if everyone followed the golden rule. But that's like one paragraph in a sea of fairy tales and troublesome passages -- killing menstruating women and what not. I would feel socially irresponsible if I thought the world would pick that one nugget out the shit pile AND get it right. Besides Christianity has been around for thousands of years and followed by damn near a third of the planet and, for my money, haven't proved to be such a great deal.

I really got to give it to David and Joe, they didn't visibly flinch though I bet almost everyone who answered that particular question says something in the neighborhood of "yes." Even for the heathen, you cannot escape the thrill of blasphemy when saying something so contradictory to the American faith narrative. I almost didn't say it, but I hate lying more than appeasement.

The big question: "What religion were you raised with, as a child?"

"None," I said (my chest almost perciptablly puffed out with heathen pride). That's right Dave, you're not dealing with some run-of-the-mill "spiritual/non-religious" Johhny Six Pack. This is the real McCoy.

This time David, did do a slight double-take, followed by a refrain.

"So, no religion?"

"Right."

"Well, is there anything else I can do for you? Pray with you or pray for you?"

An odd question, no? I mean, if someone told me they were a vegetarian I'd either have to be hard of hearing or convinced otherwise to then ask them if they wanted to share a cheese steak.

"Nah, I'm good." I said, rather pleased with myself.

A couple handshakes and the two were back on their way, off to knock on more doors. Me? I felt satisfied that two of God's errand boys were witness to the civility and NORMALITY of the neighborhood heathen.

And that was it . . . or was it?!?!

I shit you not, 30 minutes later (yes, it's taken me that long to write this entry), there's a tentative knock on the front door. I rush downstairs, hoping to see the snow-delayed mailman with our Netflix movies for the long weekend.

No, it was Joe.

"Hi, we finished our survey and we determined that you were the winner of the free bible." And dude hands me a black, New King James bible.

I said "Thanks," as he skipped off with lollipop dreams of me sitting down in the kitchen and being instantly converted in his head.

What I SHOULD have said, was "Oh, no thanks, I've already got a copy." Which is true. I have a New International version in the guest room. I even marked the funny parts in yellow highlighter. Alas my tongue was so quick.

So now what? Am I really the biggest heathen in this neighborhood? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm flattered, just shocked. Do I get to wear a scarlet H on my shirt. Ooh, what if there's a tshirt: "Two out of Two Jehovah's Witnesses Agree That I'm Going to Hell."

Sweet.

PROLOGUE: I actually opened the bible and saw the dedication page. Apparently, the bible was gifted to a guy named Michael from his mom and dad.  "He gave you his own bible," my wife said with the tears almost falling off her tongue. Admittedly, the sentiment took all the cynical wind out of my sails. If "Joe" was really Michael than I would feel really bad. Good thing he wasn't. I flipped to the back of the Bible and saw another name handwritten there -- "Akeem." THAT was Joe's name. I knew it was something more African sounding. I guess Michael donated his bible to Akeem to pass out to random heathens. Who knows? Point is Akeem is the one who gave it to me and, what's more, HE LEFT HIS PHONE NUMBER! I just got booked evangelical style. Thing is, I WILL call him. I've had plenty of true believers reach out, but this time I'm going to take up the gauntlet. I'm going to call Akeem. Like, in a couple days. Not immediately, I don't want him to think I'm some sort of spiritual slut.

I'll keep you posted 

Chic-Fil-WHAAAAAA???

Fucking Chic-Fil-A.

Oh yeah, they have great sandwiches, incredible customer service and their peach shakes were good enough to consider selling your soul. But when it comes to religious tolerance, they have a long way to go.

So yesterday, during our weekly pilgramage to Target, my wife reminded me that we needed to stop by the dollar savings section to "pick up stuff for the Chic-Fil-A boxes."

She said this matter of factly, as if I had clue the first as to what she was talking about.

"Huh?" My face said.

"We picked up these charity boxes from Chic-Fil-A that you fill up with gifts for underpriviledged kids."

Great idea, right?

Now, like most folks, I think I fit under the category of "good people." I grew up with parents who were active in giving to charity. One of my strongest memories is driving through Philly with my father, delivering turkeys and gifts to people who didn't have enough money to get them for themselves. It was a defining moment in my life as it brought home how lucky I was. It's also something I've wanted to replicate with my kids, so I saw this as a nice opportunity.

Needless to say, I was excited -- an emotion my children never see on their dad's face while shopping. Their reciprocal excitement from being ENCOURAGED to buy as many toys as possible was only equalled by their stunning disappointment that these toys weren't actually for them. Welcome to charity girls, smells good don't it?

So after that spirit-crushing trip, we returned home with a couple bags of stuff and started filling the boxes like middle-aged Santas. It was really . . . nice. It was warming to think $35 could cause some kid to dust off a smile he hadn't used as much as he'd like -- even if it was just for one day and even if it was just over a coloring book and a toy dinosaur.

While I was filling one box, I happened upon the sheet that accompanied it; a blue worksheet intended for my chidren to fill out. it asked their names, what they like to do, their favorite this and favorite that. Then, about half way down the page, there was this bold question/assumption:

"I love Jesus because . . . "

And then there were three blank lines after it, like there's a bunch of 8-year-old religious scholars who can expound on the significance of a magic Jew who lived before Dora or even, gasp, the Electric Company. At most, I would think a kid would finish the sentence with "because he turned Christmas over to Santa Claus."

And what's with this "love Jesus" stuff? Maybe Jesus and I aren't that cool. Maybe we're like "work friends" or just neighborly. You know we wave when we see each other but we don't know each others last names (which isn't saying much because no one seems to know Jesus' last name). Either way, I don't know that I like Chic-Fil-A rushing Jesus and I into some serious thing. I mean back off, will ya?

I digress.

What really pissed me off was not the pint-size preaching, it was the assumption that my giving had something to do my supposed love with Jesus (again, we are NOT going out, OK?). If I knew I had to be "This Religious" to ride this ride, I would have gone to a different park. But, seriously, this isn't really about me, specifically. I don't practice any religion, so I know Chic-Fil-A doesn't even consider me, but what about the millions of Muslims or Hindus, or, uh, what do they call them, you know Jesus' mom and dad were . . . oh yeah, JEWS! What, they don't find happiness with a #1 combo with those fucking tasty waffle fries? Do THEY have to go steady with Jesus in order to fill a couple of boxes with middle-class regret in the shape Transformer pencil sharpners to gain Chic-Fil-A's affections?

I know you're thinking, "dude, just leave the question blank."

Sure, that would be the "rational" thing to do. Besides, Chic-Fil-A is an openly-Christian business (they're closed on Sundays). But this is about principle. There's principalities to be considered.

Soooooooo . . . . we left it blank, but I desperately WANTED to write something very snarky in there like
"I love Jesus because he doesn't care if I'm a Christian, and neither should you" or "I love Jesus because he knows all the winning lotto numbers."

Truth is, I'm not going to stop going to Chic-Fil-A, not unless I want my children to slit my neck in my sleep, but I just wanted to point out our society's bias towards the faithful. It may seem harmless or even cute, but to me it's bigotry. Deep, golden-fried bigotry that goes great with lemonade.