No Reason to Doubt Them

 

From the earliest age I can remember, my parents taught me about life.  How to say words, what each word meant and right from wrong.  The basics.

Pretty soon they were telling me about this stranger.  An undocumented alien, from the sound of it.  Unshaven, no discernable variation in his wardrobe, no visual means of support, yet once a year he would sneak into our house and leave us presents.  If any food was left out, he’d take it.

It took some time for me to wrap my head around that whole thing, but they weren’t done yet.  Soon they were teaching me about a bunny rabbit who hides chicken eggs around and then leaves.  It was up to us kids to go find them and put them back in the fridge before they stunk up the place.

They tried to explain Adam and Eve and Mary and Joseph but became confused about who came first and just what happened with that whole story.  There was something in there about flaming shrubberies, but that sort of trailed off into nothing.

I think my parents were drinkers.  They went into this long-involved thing about snakes and fresh fruit.  To tell you the truth, I just quit listening.