May 24: Godless liberal

On Friday I drove past a national cemetery and the kids pointed out the little American flags at each grave. I explained they were there because those people had fought for their country and this was one way that we honored them on Memorial Day. The conversation that followed went like this:

Jack: Mom, is there anything under the flags?

Me: Yes, there are people buried under them, in caskets.

Jack: What’s a casket?

Me: It’s a box that dead people are put in before they are buried in the ground.

Katie: That’s a coffin.

Me: Coffin, casket, same thing. It’s a box.

Jack is quiet for a moment. Then he speaks up again:

Jack: OK, so when those people are buried in the ground, are they in Hell?

Me, chuckling quietly: Some of them, I guess. But no, their bodies are in the casket in the ground. People that believe in Heaven and Hell sometimes think a person’s soul goes to Heaven or Hell when that person dies, not their body.

Jack: What’s a soul?

Me, suddenly thinking a sex talk would be much easier than this one: It’s the inside of you, but not your guts and stuff. It’s not something you can touch or see. It’s who you are, like your spirit.

He thinks some more.

Jack: Do I have a soul?

Me: I suppose. I think everyone does.

Jack: Do you have a soul?

Me: I used to, but I sold it to the devil.

This is just about the time Child Protection Services should take away my every parental right because I clearly am unable to raise these children to be decent adults. But they weren’t in the car with us, so NEENERS on them. We’re doin’ it my way, folks!

Jack, interrupting my laughter over how hilarious I find myself: Really?

Me: No, that was on The Simpsons. Homer sold his soul to the devil for a donut. Oh, and there was another episode when Bart sold his soul to Milhouse and the pets started growling at him, and when he went to the store he couldn’t make the doors open when he stepped on the thing. He thought it was because he didn’t have a soul.

Jack: Oh.

Me: Jack, some people really don’t know what they believe about whether or not we have souls, so instead they just make jokes about it.

Jack: Are they funny?

Me: Sometimes. On The Simpsons, always. But no one really knows for sure if we have souls. You just decide what you want to believe.

Jack: I have a soul. And I want to go to Heaven.

Me, to myself: Yes, and that’s how you’ll rebel against me, isn’t it? Become a Bible-thumping Jesus freak? Probably get a call-in radio show? And write books about how you barely survived your heathen upbringing? And after all I’ve done for you…

Me, to Jack: OK. Have fun. I’m going to the other place.

Katie: Why?

Me: Because Heaven sounds sooo boring. Angels and clouds and everyone’s always nice to everyone. Blech.

Katie and Jack, laughing: You’re weird, Mom.

I was raised—with the best intentions—that anyone who believed differently from me and my church was wrong. I want my kids to grow up with an understanding that not everyone believes the same way they do, and that’s alright. I suppose making jokes about their serious questions is not the best route, but just think about all the work I’m creating for their future psychiatrists. The economy will finally bounce back!

And then you’ll all owe me big time.