Hello...My Name is God

I was having a video chat with my friend JR today, and the light in his office was behind him, darkening his face and leaving him as a silhouette. You could just make out the features on one side of his face, but it was vague and nondescript. The only part of him that came in perfectly clear on the camera was his sweatshirt…or rather a single word on his sweatshirt. God.

As I looked at this face clouded in mystery and shadow, taking human form and no form at the same time…a sort of Everyman, I was struck by how much it looked like God, or rather what I imagine God would look like. And then to see it boldly and clearly announced on his shirt, so that it leaves no doubt, just like in the days of old. I am God.

But it was funny too. I imagined God wearing one of those name tags that says, “Hello…My Name is God,” walking around some networking function and interacting with people.

“Hi…God is it? My name is Ted, I’m in mergers and acquisitions. What line of business are you in?”

“Hello, Ted. It’s nice to finally meet you. Your wife has told me a lot about you. I’m in the insurance business. My two partners and I are doing some pretty amazing things, life-changing things. Let me tell you about it.”

“Hello, God. My name is Sharon. You look so familiar, have we met before?”

“Hello, Sharon. I had the pleasure of meeting you a while back, but it’s been a very long time since we last spoke. It’s definitely good to run into you again.”

“God!”

“Hello, Seth.”

“Man, I’m so glad you’re here. I thought this thing was going to be a complete drag, but now that you’re here, it might be at least tolerable. But come over here, there’s some people I want you to meet.”

Sox

I used to bowl. Not very often and not particularly well, but enough that my mom and stepdad decided to get me a personalized ball. And when they asked me what nickname I wanted on it, I was stumped. My stepdad had always been “Hondo,” because he was a huge John Wayne fan. My mom was “Boots,” because she was a country girl at heart, and my stepdad had met her at a country bar. I hadn’t yet developed my computer gaming persona of “Cyclops,” so I wasn’t sure what to pick. But we were at the bowling shop, and everyone was waiting on me, so I went with the first thing I could think of.

I always used to wear this black White Sox hat. It was back years ago when they had revamped their logo to the much cooler version you see today, and everyone was sporting their gear. I loved that hat. I wore it everywhere. That was back when I actually wore hats. And so, I looked down at the hat, and I read what was written across it, and that’s what became my bowling nickname. Sox.

Kissing a Fish

The last time I went fishing was when I was about 18 years old. My father and stepmother had taken my girlfriend and I to Corpus Christi for a mini beach vacation. That was the official position, but really, it was because my father wanted to go fishing. I had never enjoyed fishing, mostly because I lacked the patience and ability to sit still long enough to wait for a fish to commit suicide on my hook. I got restless, and I wanted to move. I got bored sitting alone, not talking or doing anything for hours on end…which is why I convinced them to let me take my girlfriend.

The morning we were suppose to go fishing, we got up at 4:00 a.m., so we could be at the pier by 5:00 a.m. and grab a “primo” spot. I forgot to mention that I’m also not a morning person or getting up before the sun. It was pitch black when we trudged out on the pier to claim our spots, my dad and stepmother on one side, and my girlfriend and I on the other. We had to use flashlights to see what we were doing. When we were all set, I cast off into the murky darkness and waited…and waited…and waited. The first rays of sunlight started to creep up over the horizon, and still we waited. I watched the sunrise, and my girlfriend slept in her chair.

Finally, I felt a tug on my line. I set the hook and reeled in my prize. Which ended up being a very angry crab. After fighting him off the hook and dropping him back in the water, I cast off again. I didn’t have to wait as long before I snagged something else, but it was only a giant glob of seaweed. Then I cast a third time, and this time, I hit gold…well, sort of a gold and blue with black cross stripes.

I had caught a small pinfish. Too small to keep, but large enough to fill my hand. And as I looked into the scared eyes of that fish, I was overcome by a strange emotion. To this day, I can’t explain it or what possessed me to do what I did next.

I kissed that fish right on his puckered lips…and he kissed me back.

Snowboarding

I had a dream about the guy across the street last night, even though he hasn’t lived there for years. He used to ride a snowboard in his garage, which I always found very strange. I’d be working, and I’d hear a loud “thwacking” sound echoing down the street as he practiced balancing, jumping, and changing direction. Over and over again, he’d launch himself into the air on his snowboard for an hour. Then, he’d close the garage door, and all would be quiet again.

My first thought was that he was crazy. I mean there were certainly other indicators to support this, like his obsession with washing and detailing his car on a weekly basis or the fact that he pulled weeds from his garden multiple times a week. But then I thought maybe he was just preparing for an upcoming ski trip, and he was trying to break in his gear. But last night, an alternate thought invaded my dreams.

What if he was actually a snowboard designer, and he was testing out a prototype that he’d developed? I mean it seems logical that he might want to check the balance, flex, and handling to make adjustments to the design. Then again, it’d be pretty odd for a snowboard designer to be living in Texas, where there are zero mountains and zero skiing. So, we’re back to he was just crazy.

The Carrot Cake

Me: “What was my stepfather’s favorite kind of cake?”

My Mom: “Lemon cake.”

Me: “But I thought he liked carrot cake.”

My Mom: “No, he always asked for lemon cake, but I made him carrot.”

Corn on the Cob

My spousal unit made corn for dinner tonight. She gave everyone a cob except herself. I was a little suspicious about this, and my mind went to the most logical reason…she had poisoned them. But the corn looked pretty tasty, so I decided to risk it. I have to say the strychnine added a little something to it.

The Tornado Party

I came downstairs this evening to find my spousal unit, mother-in-law, and son huddled up in the laundry room. They had pillows, drinks, and candles laid out on the dryer. And my son was watching a movie on the iPad. I asked my wife what was going on, and she replied that there was a tornado warning for our area for the next hour. I said, “And nobody thought to let me know?!”