Saturday, December 6, 2008

Gabbin' About God

I'm not a religious guy. Do I think there is something out there, that the universe isn't simply a cosmic accident? Yes. Do I think that human beings have figured out what that "something" is? No. Organized religion has done far more harm than good on this earth, and I think it's the height of arrogance to tell someone you've got the inside track on the meaning of life and what waits in the afterlife. Me? I just don't know what waits in the great beyond. But I decided long ago if I love my family and friends, and treat people with dignity and respect, in any decently run universe I'm gonna be okay.



So as a result, I haven't really talked to god for years. As a kid, no matter what your religious leanings, you talk to god all the time. Especially when you get in trouble. "God, help me out of this jam, and I swear I won't do anything bad again." As if god, whatever it may be, is going to buy that. But as I got older, as I took a deeper look at the world around me and the atrocities people carry out in the name of "god", I phased the "help me out, god!" phrase out of my lexicon.



That has changed slightly, now that I am mere days away from being a Dad. Ten days until our "official" due date, I've become that celestial deal-making teenager that I was 15 years ago. When your wife could pop any minute, you don't sleep too deeply, and late at night, I have discovered to my great surprise that I'm starting to converse once again with a mythic figure I'm not sure exists.



"God, please let my son be healthy. Let everything be okay. That's all I ask."



I even start negotiating, as if I'm asking too much.



"He can even be on the fugly side. I can work with that. Just let him come out whole and hearty."



I have no reason to worry. My wife and I are both in excellent health, all of our tests have come back with happy results. I even shouldn't worry about Max's looks, as my wife is beautiful (and I think I'm no slouch in the cosmetic dept.)



But until that peanut shows up, I find myself imagining every nightmare scenario that has very little chance of happening, but there's still that .000009% chance, dammit!



I won't be going to church anytime soon, and this certainly isn't a call for all expectant parents to become over-protective whack-jobs. All I'm saying is that when you become responsible for that little person who comes into your life, your perspective changes greatly. I have every reason to believe that Max will be fine, but until I see with my own eyes that he is fine, I'll continue to imagine everything that could go wrong and try to strike some deals with some spooky ethereal father figure. I when I can see for my own eyes that said father-figure exists, then I'll pop into the nearest church, synagogue, or mosque. We're human beings, and by nature we're skeptical of things we can't see, whether that's some kind of god, or a child who is hale and hearty.



So next time you see your folks, tell them you understand why they worried about you so much. Becoming responsible for that little person changes everything, even if that little person is 23. We even start making deals with mythic figures!

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