Imagine

Joann and I are watching a History Channel program on "The Dark Ages." Calvin's at the kitchen table finishing up his homework and giggling to himself.

The homework piece is fine, but we start to be a little concerned about the giggling.

Math isn't funny.

Yes, mathematicians can be a riot, but a page full of addition problems isn't exactly the kind of stuff that pokes the Pillsbury Doughboy's belly.

"Calvin, what are you laughing about?"

"Nothing." giggle giggle.

Joann and I look at each other with that "I'm worried, but not quite scared enough to get up off the couch and investigate much further" look . . . and it is just at that moment that something horrible occurs to me.

See, you can't watch a TV show about "The Dark Ages" without the casual mention of Christianity's influence on the times, and you can't casually mention Christianity without someone saying "Jesus Christ"

And every time the announcer says "Jesus Christ" . . . another little peel of giggles.

It took me a second.

And then I realize.

Despite our blood being nearly 50% Roman Catholic, the savior doesn't play much of a role in the WaitDad household. There is no crucifix. No virgin Mary. No saints, no angels. We own several bibles, but they're mainly used for reference checks and spider killing. So really, the only time Calvin would hear someone say "Jesus Christ" is when they are taking the lord's name in vain.

OMFG

Swear words make Calvin giggle.

Calvin thinks "Jesus Christ" is a swear word.

Like "Stupid Head" and "Doody Balls"

Meditate on that for a bit.

Doody balls.

And I know how much that very idea would break the hearts of grandmothers, and I know how secretly conflicted Joann feels about it, yet I can't help but feel a little smug that he shall live a life filled with rights and wrongs but free of sin. That the choices he makes will come from himself and himself alone. And that there will be no need for absolution for every decision will be its own learning, and every bad one will come with its own penance, and every good one will be reveled in its own light.

I've been thinking about this a lot over the last few days.

Cause soon he's going to come to me and ask about god. And heaven. And Jesus. And girls.

And I'm going to tell him that I don't believe in god, but I suspect there is something greater to us than these fleshy bodies. And that I don't believe in heaven except for the kind found in the perfect major chord or a full body hug. And I'm going to tell him that I don't believe in Jesus because I don't think Jesus would've either, and if I'm wrong, he'll forgive me. Win, win.

And I will tell him that I do believe in girls, but I can only teach him to be a better man, and even then he's going to fail more often than not,

cause that's what we do.

That . . .

and giggle when someone say's "Doody Balls"