Sunday June 21st, 2015

The exercise:

Write about: the father and the son.

Had a pretty pleasant Father's Day here, capped off with a BBQ at the beach with Kat's family. Max spent quite a bit of time in the water while I was cooking the salmon, but promises of Kat's potato salad and chocolate dessert managed to get him back on dry land eventually.

Plus we somehow got him home before he fell asleep, so no awkward transition from car seat to bed was required.

Back to the garden tomorrow. Can't remember at the moment what I was thinking of working on. Feeling pretty okay about that.


"Hey Dad, I've got a question for you."

"Sure. Fire away."

"I was talking with some of the guys at school during lunch today."

"Okay... that always leads to something interesting."

"I know, right? So a couple guys were going on about church stuff and I ended up feeling a little confused."

"Church stuff, huh? All right, not my area of expertise, but I'll do what I can to help you out."

"Cool. So, like, you're the father, right?"

"Uh... yes?"

"And I'm the son."


"Well... then who is our holy ghost?"

"Our... um, we don't have one of those."

"What about Auntie Bernice? She passed away last year, right?"

"Son, if Aunt Bernice is still hanging around... she would not be a holy ghost."


Greg said...

Max is attempting to become amphibious then? That's not a bad ambition to have :) It does sound like a pleasant day was had though!
Heh, I like how that conversation progressed, and the father's response at the end is cuttingly apt. I quite like how easy it to tell the speaker's apart too, so well done with the characterisation!

The father and the son
"What the bloody hell is that?" Padre Mahomet slapped a hand over his mouth almost instantly, his eyes registering his shock – and sorrow – that the words had escaped at all.
"That," said Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness, Ruler of Winter, and Faerie Queen in no uncertain terms, "is a Standard Ophidic Nymph, or SON for short. My turn for a question, I think. If you are a father, where are all your children?"
"My children are my flock," said the Padre. This was such a common question amongst the Sunday School children that he didn't even need to think about it. "They need a leader in the ways of the Lord, and we present ourselves as fathers as that is a standard human paradigm for respect that is unearned."
Mab smiled, her blue lips pressed thinly together, and the Padre replayed his words in his head. He put his hand back over his mouth, he was sure he'd only intended to say that a father figure was what lost sheep needed most.
"Did you put words in my mouth?" he asked, sounding garbled behind his hand.
"No," said Mab. She smiled more openly, but the Padre noted that this only exposed her teeth. "My turn again; you seem to be conflicted; why are you representing at least three faiths?"
"I was hoping to confuse you and thus have an advantage for these discussions," said the Padre. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and stared at it as though it was burning hot. "You've done something to me!"
"Only the truth may be spoken here," said Mab. "Why else would we convene here?"
"Because you got to pick," said the Padre quickly. "Now I get two questions!" Mab waved a hand, her body language conveying her irritation.
"What does Ophidic mean, and why are you showing me this SON?"
"Snake-like," said Mab, and she laughed, which was like the tinkle of falling icicles. "And since you are a father, I require you to have a SON."
The Padre sat motionless.
"Padre Mahomet," she said, gesturing to the nymph. "Meet Mr. Wriggles, your new SON."

Marc said...

Greg - wonderfully conveyed scene here, despite its tragic loss of direction at the very end with the inclusion of Mr. Wriggles. I still managed to like it a lot, despite that glaring fault :P