Father, Son and Holy Spook!

Oct 31, 2006

10:04 PM

So, my daughter went trick or treating early, and I missed the opportunity to photograph, and shoot video, of her dressed in her snake costume. Yes, she is a little weird—just like her dad. Anyway, the soon-to-be ex was in a gracious mood, and I hung around and played with my daughter. We played the Halloween Harassing Game, she read me a story, and she taught me about her method for telling time, and her version of how currency works. Her sense of time and money further indicate that she is very much my child. God help her. Which brings us to the other topic.

I asked the soon-to-be ex if there is such thing as a soul. She said that she didn't know. She said that she was reading a book by Carl Sagan that deals with para-science and UFOs. She reiterated that she didn't believe in God.

Like I said in an earlier blog, I don't know for sure. I can't prove anything. I did comment about how Christianity isn't actually monotheistic. There is the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Right? I Googled up some info, and the definition stated that the Holy Trinity is made up of three persons of a consubstantial God, but that is exactly the kind of nonsense that makes my head hurt. Consubstantial?

So we got to the point in the conversation where the existence of a soul was questioned, God was openly doubted, and then I asked about whether or not there was a right and wrong—and if right and wrong mattered.

There was a detour through astrology. I believe that it is totally baseless. I believe that astrology was invented to give women a pickup line; "What sign are you?"

The conversation was also interrupted by my lovely daughter who insisted that we stop talking about "that stuff." We humored her a bit, and changed the subject for a while. When the opportunity presented itself, we returned to the fray.

I stated that I believed in the Golden Rule, but I wondered aloud if my belief mattered. The future ex said that we should be good, rather than bad, to be compassionate toward our fellow humans. I mused over how unfair life was to the crippled and developmentally disabled.

The conversation disintegrated before we could find a satisfying thesis. It was my daughter's bedtime, and practical matters took priority over the philosophical ones. After all, those little seven year-old teeth needed to be brushed.

Once my daughter was in bed, my almost ex complained about her sore knee, and reclined on the couch to watch TV and unwind. I thanked her for letting me hang out, and made my way into the night.

I may not know whether or not I have a soul, but I got to give my daughter eight or twenty goodnight kisses on her sweet little cheek.