Christmas 2011 has drawn to an end. As a whole, it was a great day. Everyone was thrilled with their presents, we all ate way too much, and the weather was clear and bright. Exactly the way Christmas should be. The kids got a ton of stuff, and were pretty happy all day. Well, except for one time earlier in the morning where my daughter threw a bit of a temper tantrum. Nothing unusual for a 6 year old diva-in-training with an older brother and older cousin running around competing for attention.
The temper tantrum is where our story begins kids. If you’re not seated, please make sure you are as our story, brief as it is, will take us on some intellectual twists and turns that may throw you. What should I call this story I wonder? The Crazy That Came to Breakfast sounds like a good plan. Let’s roll with it. Grab a drink and a snack, buckle up and hang on, because here we go.
As I mentioned earlier, there was a nondescript and not altogether unusual mild temper tantrum as my daughter wanted some attention that was being directed elsewhere. She sulked in the dining room while the rest of those in attendance at our annual Christmas Breakfast sat in the living room talking.
My wife’s cousin (whom I’ve only met once before) tagged along with her parents as they visited this year, and I had no problem with this, even though I didn’t know him from Adam. I just figured it would be another person to spread the joy to.
As we sat there and talked, I obliquely heard my Father In Law say “Tell Kelly” to the cousin who promptly got up, went to the kitchen where my wife was, and closed the door separating the living area from the kitchen.
I figured, naively, that he was telling her how good breakfast was, or otherwise being normal and or complimentary. A few minutes passed and he returned to the conversation. Shortly thereafter, my wife came out and summoned me to the kitchen. She claimed she needed to speak to me, and I was a little uncertain…I can usually read her expression but not this time. She was blank, and it almost came off as cold. I assumed I’d done something stupid somehow. We walked to the far side of the kitchen where we stood the least chance of being heard, and then she asked me if I’d seen ‘cousin’ come out to talk to her.
“Yep, what was that all about?” I replied.
“He told me (daughter) is possessed by a demon and needs prayer” was the deadpan response.
I laughed for a split second but then read into her expression.
“You’re serious?” I asked.
“Yes. He said she is possessed by the same evil spirit that has my sister and she needs immediate [some weird term I can’t remember] prayer, and asked if he could lay his hands on her in prayer”
I felt a combination of things at that moment. Disbelief and anger blood-boiling rage hit about two tenths of a second apart.
“What the f*ck kind of ignorant bullshit is that?' I raged.
"I don’t even know what to say” my wife muttered.
Nor do I and it’s been almost 12 hours. What kind of a crazy fucking asshole says shit like that to someone they don’t really know…in that someone’s home…on Christmas…about their kids?
I traditionally am not at a loss for words regarding most anything but this has me flabbergasted beyond belief. Apparently he’d then asked her if he should tell me, and she wisely responded in the negative. Had he said that to me, in my own home, in front of everyone, I would have instinctively swung on him. I would have dropped that son of a bitch like the bag of fundamentalist bullshit he is. I am usually a staunch defender of people’s right to believe whatever they want to believe, but that comes with a caveat. That caveat is, when you harm someone else with your beliefs the goddamned gloves come off.
Talking shit about my kid…especially when said shit is a bucket of 100% pure, fresh squeezed crazy is something I don’t take lightly.
I don’t know if I’m more pissed he said something like that, that I didn’t know about it until I couldn’t act (he left), or that of all the wonderful stuff that happened on Christmas, this is what I’m still awake at 1:30 thinking about.
