Common sense

If your child is playing happily but not necessarily quietly, yelling at him from the other side of the library is not going to help.

Just an observation.

The 8,000 pound pink elephant

You know, the one with the white polka dots and tye-dyed, four foot wing span?
The one sitting in the middle of the room?

Yeah, me neither.

Paternal Religious Reason

Pop dragged me to his singles group tonight. Okay, okay, okay, "dragged" is a little harsh. He asked, and I agreed. I knew it would make him happy, and every now and then I try to do things to make him happy.

Little back story for the confuddled:

Poppa, my biological father, is a born-again Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian. He eats, sleeps, and breathes Christ the Savior. So does his wife. Every detail about everyday is Jesus this and Christ that. This is a turn off.

Poppa is a born-again Evangelical Fundamentalist Christian.

I am so not. I'm a recently confirmed Catholic, but this is not about my religion, this is about Poppa and Singles Group.

Enough backstory, back to the story:

He's persistent. I don't care how many times I tell him no, he insists that I accompany him on these excursion. "Go to this with me." "Go to that with me." I usually go because it's the only way I can spend time with him. He will not pass on fellowship to spend quality time with his first born (or any subsequent born). I'm also a spectator, and I enjoy watching other people. Call it amatuer anthropology, if you will. Even if I don't agree with these people, I'll gladly meet them half way to understanding (I'd appreciate the same consideration every once in a while, but alas, another tale-and battle-for another time). Anyway, I went to singles, and listen to more FECs discuss Jesus Christ and how He inhabits every moment of every day.

It was as utterly uncomfortable as every other time I "participate" in his religious goings-on. Though this time, nobody told me I was going to Hell, so I guess that's a plus.

I resigned myself to outsider status years ago. This evening was no different.

I don't even remember the point of this post. Just blowing off steam.

Paternal Telepathy

Sometimes I know when my Poppa is talking about me, because snippets of modern Christian music roll around in my ears like day old pool water. Just one or two lines from late night Time Life collection commercials.

This will, of course, require some explanation. However, I have to work early tomorrow and it's already wuh-ay past my bedtime.

My real pursuits.

Who am I kidding? I'm not the uber-eloquent politico wordsmith I fancy myself. So I'm giving up on the endeavor all together (hey, that rhymes!). Instead, I'll spend my blogging bandwidth just yakking away about the ickle thoughts that scamper across my under stimulated mind.

Ahhhh, freedom.