Sunday School

As my comrades in blog are the first to acknowledge, this time of year is fraught with religious symbolism and significance. Imagine my disappointment, then, that my own mother continues her personal War on God.

During this week's visit from Grandma, the topic turned to religion, prompted, I think, by my youngest's complaints that he's the only kid in school who doesn't get presents at this time of year. Neither part of that statement is true; our kids do get presents (just not from us) and there are kids at school who don't get any. My son's not one to let facts get in the way of blame, however, which will be helpful if he ever runs for office.

"Thanks, Dad," he sneered. "Way to ruin my life."

"Tell you what," I said. "Get up every week and go to church or temple and we'll talk about it. In the meantime, my gift to you is skepticism."

My mother attempted to change the subject by turning to my oldest son and asking, "What religion do you put down when you have to fill out forms at school?"

"He's a Scientologist," I interjected. "Or a Presbyterian. I can never remember. It's one of those new ones."

This earned a glare from my Lovely Bride, while my mother and child simply ignored me.

"I don't know," said my son. "I've never had to fill out that kind of form."

"I hope the school asks him that," I said. "I'll be able to retire."

"It's interesting," said my mother, still pretending I wasn't there. "Some religions are as much about culture as belief. I still refer to myself by my childhood religion even though I haven't practiced or believed in years."

"I wouldn't do that on the next trip you've got planned," I said. "Many people in that part of the world aren't particularly interested in the distinction you're making. You're going to end up as a hostage, aren't you?"

My mother turned to my wife. "What do you consider yourself?"

"I'm not sure," said my wife. "If I had to say which organized system holds the most attraction for me, I suppose it would be Unitarian Universalism."

"Commie," I muttered.

My youngest looked up excitedly. "I'm a Unitarian too!"

I patted him on the head. "Buddy, you're not a unicorn. We'll get that horn removed as soon as we can afford it."

My mother finally acknowledged me. "He said he's a Unitarian."

"I know. He stutters."

The youngest looked at my Lovely Bride. "Mom, can I be a Unitarian?"

"If you want to," she said.

He whooped and high-fived her before turning to me. "In your face, old man!" he yelled. "Now you have to buy me presents."

The motivation for his spiritual journey finally surfaces.

"You still don't get presents," I said.

"That's not fair!" he said.

"No it's not," I said.

Which is enough spiritual education for any day.