Tagged: divorce
Sleep, Sleeper
If I could change one aspect of modernity, it would be to un-invent the clock. I know, I know, it wouldn’t work. Modernity needs the clock like fish need water. But living by a clock has always felt unnatural to me. Most unnatural is the idea of waking up because of “what time” it is. Sleep, I say.
Running right alongside my fantasy is that I hate waking people up, no matter what time the clock says it is. I feel that I have done my small part in increasing happiness for my fellow man if I help keep people asleep. Specifically, I do everything in my power to keep babies, toddlers, and children asleep. This sleep benevolence of mine extends also to spouses and family members and house guests in general. If I am at work and someone is sleeping, I tip-toe away and do whatever is in my power to not wake them.
I cannot recall the last time I caused or allowed (or let pass without strong rebuke, for that matter) a sharp noise to be sounded while someone was sleeping.
I do confess there are moments where my posture towards sleep is more difficult, perhaps impossible, to maintain. When H- was small, we went to the symphony together and she would fall asleep despite the racket. At the end, I couldn’t just close the place down as she slept. So I woke her.
On Sundays, the black baptists run long as a rule. J- often finds the padded pew similar enough to a bed. I cannot just allow him to sleep as they come to the conclusion of the whole matter. Life must go on.
But I ask you, dear reader, what about when I show up to H-’s orchestra concert only to be carefully ignored by her? What if H- plans a trip to visit my parents and siblings (her grandparents and aunts and uncles) and is sure to confirm that I do not have a coordinated surprise visit in mind before boarding?
What then? Should I let H- sleep? Should my family let H- sleep?
H- is told the worst kind of lies by her mom, her mom’s parents, her step-dad, and his parents, and my parents, my siblings, and—unless I miss my mark—the entire fucking population of this great country have decided to let her sleep.
H- is living a lie.
She doesn’t know it, but she has been kidnapped.
She doesn’t know it, but her dad is robbed monthly and has been for 12+ years.
She doesn’t know it, but she would not have a roof over her head, food in her belly, or a pot to piss in, if it wasn’t for me.
She doesn’t know it, because she sleeps.
Should I wake her?
Nahhh. Let her sleep.
Sleep, Sleeper.
Reaction to Today’s Obituaries
In this version of a recuring theme, I want to call your attention to each person’s “best”.
I mean that in each obituary there is usually one truth which sneaks past the editor, one ridiculous claim that isn’t about the deceased—but the writer. Some, if we’re lucky, have more than one.
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“Among his many achievements were a state basketball championship at G- High School and a state football championship at W- High School.”
-unnnnnnfortunately, you can’t take it with you.
“He and his family also spent summers growing gladiola for sale to commercial florists and at farmers markets in (city).”
-must’ve been some flowers for commercial florists to take notice.
“She was the beautiful blonde cheerleader and [her husband, E-], the handsome basketball star.” And, “She studied His Holy Word and lived in His Way always.”
-pretty much everything a little tow head girl could ask for in life, no?
“Beginning in 1982 they lived in homes in (city) that P- spent his time improving, until 1977.”
-wish I knew him!
“He was a voracious reader; reading every book in the public library during his elementary and high school years.”
-middle school must’ve been when he experimented with hard drugs though obviously he ultimately decided against the practice.
“Following an intense loss at the B- Invitational Golf Tournament, he decided against a professional golf career.”
-Oh. Interesting. So that’s why. Hmm. Quitter.
(Same man) “He was open-minded and did not see distinctions of class, education, or wealth.”
-lots of Black friends probably.
“They specialized in high quality and custom hardwood lumber for the local building industry.”
-too bad commercial buyers weren’t interested. That would’ve been something to write about.
“C- strived for morality and enjoyed the unique qualities of everyone she met.”
-is that how pro-lifers are described today?
“J- poured his heart and love of writing into this book which can be found on http://www.amazon.com.”
-slow down. Was that three double-u’s or four?
“In 1972, she graduated valedictorian from S- high school.”
-set. For. Life.
“A beautiful woman of deep faith and exceptional grace, she excelled in many endeavors in her life.”
-what can I say? Rotator cuff injury took me out in 8th grade. Downhill from there.
(Same lady.) “At the time of her selection (three years ahead of her peers) she was one of the youngest officers in the Air Force selected for promotion to full colonel.”
-no comment
(One more from this David-hearted mortal.) “L- lived the life that she wanted to have.”
-lucky!!
“S- was an astute businesswoman who helped build a successful business that still exists today.”
-ahh. Finally. In the only meaningful sense of the word, one lucky dead woman found happiness. Or as Aristotle called it, “Eudaimonia.” Flourishing.
****
As always, reader, please do better. Please take life seriously. Please do not write this crap about your loved ones. If you need help, comment. Or email me. I would be happy to help you tell the truth.
Husbands: Throw Away the Romance Novels, A Review of The Island (2004) by Michael Bay
Husbands, I’m looking squarely at you! Throw away those romance novels and pick up the remote control. On Paramount+ right now you will find the most sensational, the most sultry, the most seductive film ever created to help save your marriage. Grab your wife, plop down on the love seat, and get ready for sparks to fly.
Husbands: you know the situation. Right now there is “culture” and there is “husband”. It is war. And us husbands lose every time.
How do we right the ship?
The answer is easy: wives must be shown a model.
Wives, as is well-documented and only too well-known, have little to no imagination. So they need to have a ready-made “felt experience” from which to draw memories. Enter, Mr. Bay’s 2004 classic The Island.
After the film lays out the story (post-apocalyptic indoor world, boring as shyte to men, exciting to women, with the only hope of change being a timely, random lottery every so often promising relocation to the last uncontaminated spec of land on the earth—an island) we meet the needed ingredient to help us win back our families. That ingredient being, the “culture” in the movie—the company cloning the rich people—puts out a “contamination” alert for Ewan McGregor’s character. But McGregor has already got the hand of Scarlet Johansen, and so here’s the kicker: Mrs. Johansen trusts and follows Mr. McGregor despite what the screens and other women advise!
Even more fantastic than this scene, the couple live! As they live on together, often even touching, they both learn just how much the “culture” lied.
Sometimes McGregor leads the running, other times he gets bogged down by some heavy lifting and Johansen continues the chase at the front.
Their object is the same—escape the prison of “culture”—so it really doesn’t matter who appears to lead according to the variables of time and space. What matters is that she chose her man, consequently she and he are now one and, again, at the risk of repeating myself, the wife (future) ignores the “culture” in favor of her husband.
Now, as every Bay fanboy knows, there are rules to the universe and rule 17 requires Michael Bay films to include a perfectly outrageous highway chase scene where the husband must unload railcar wheels onto the highway from atop a random semi which they only leapt onto by sheer chance. But if your beloved has somehow dozed off during the film as this begins, gently nudge her when you recognize the set-piece. Why? Because there is an incredible moment when the wife states husband’s name in a very neutral—yet leaning naggy—voice. After the exact amount of time to be perfectly suspenseful and fully engage the initiative elapses, she says, “Nice work!”
A compliment!! Just amazing.
Like St. John says of Jesus,
And there are also many other things which if they were written one after the other, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.
So we should end this simple film review here. But time is short! Grab your wife. Grab the remote. And take back your marriage!
Point/Counterpoint: Will the Influx of Africans to the West Work? (3)
No.
The influx will not work, at least not for the first few generations (and deeper, the longer they segregate).
There has been too much “foreign aid” to their homelands, and not the requisite amount of humble (which is inherently also wise), “Say, how do you get to a place where your ‘cup runneth over’?” for the Africans to ever get out of the mindset of thinking manna falls from heaven and transition to contributing.
America’s Husband 2, Plus Bonus Coverage of Ongoing Kidnapped Daughter Drama
A constant dripping on a day of steady rain And a contentious woman are alike; He who would restrain her restrains the wind, And grasps oil with his right hand. -The Bible
“Sling a paddle with the next and starve as contentedly as Job. Go for’ard when the sloop’s nose was more often under than not, and take in sail like a man. Went prospecting once, up Teslin way, past Surprise Lake and the Little Yellow-Head. Grub gave out, and we ate the dogs. Dogs gave out, and we ate harnesses, moccasins, and furs. Never a whimper; never a pick-me-up-and-carry-me. Before we went she said to look out for grub, but when it happened, never a I-told-you-so.” -Jack London
Holy Writ accounts for the italics para about nagging wives. But what can be said about Jack London’s fantasy blurb from his short “Siwash”? Is it not the Proverb we all believe to be the Word of God simply put in the positive?
In the ongoing arguments with the wife, I throw out, “Why doesn’t scripture warn wives about nagging husbands? Did the LORD forget that? Is it because he is sexist? I think there are more difficult issue within Scripture than what it would mean to suggest that maybe He legitimately forgot. I’d run with that.
In any case, it’s a conundrum to nagging Christian wives.
****
I have mentioned that nearly everything reminds me of my kidnapped daughter. Well, this summer I’m back in Colorado. Trying to get back into regular contact with H- was primary goal, but others include the mountains. As such, I have been doing inventory on the camping gear as A-, J-, and I are going to hit the campgrounds soon. In so doing, I discovered—of all things—toothbrushes and toothpaste from the last time I went camping. And that would’ve been with H- some 6+ years ago. Sad.
Anyhow, the other kids and I are having our own fun in the mountains and I can only hope suicidal social media and general neglect isn’t taking it’s toll on H- as she is taught about how to normalize darkness by her mother. I only know she is alive because she hangs up rather than lets the calls ring through to vm. I probably should be grateful.
Here I just want to capture one undeniable fact: as her dad, I never did, have, or would’ve kept H- from her mother.
I feel shitty on the regular because I know I should’ve never married H-’s mom. It’s not a good feeling. But what to do? Best I can come up with is try to warn others.
Boys: Don’t marry whores. Just don’t do it. Nothing to do with scripture. Not talking true love waits. Just don’t marry whores. Take it from ol’ Pete.
What I Would’ve Told Myself About Getting Married a Second Time Had I Known Then What I Know Now
Besides the Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar from Genesis story, during our last spat, my wife also asked if I knew what a “Phrase” was and recommended that I read about “the prostitute women bring her to Jesus.”
Again, you have to really want to understand the speaker—it’s my wife; I do—in order to figure out what the hell they are saying in moments like these, but if you work within the given context, “Phrase” can be a heavily accented “Pharisee”.
Unlike the account of VLH Tamar (which is on the whole depressing and kinda embarrassing to the patriarchs of our faith—let alone Scripture itself), I could imagine why my wife would think the LORD in heaven would use the infamous “cast the first stone” story to convict a wretched sinner like me (America’s Husband) and hope that, in so doing, she will create marital bliss in the form of an unquestioned matriarchy.
My wife states plainly that “I accuse her” all the time. (I would say that I speak with truth. Can I get a witness?!)
Naturally, then, she reads about the “Phrases’s” bringing a woman caught in adultery to Jesus (keep in mind, I am not 100% that this is the correct passage. But I think it is. Also informing my guess is the international megachurch’s absolute love and reliance and incessant preaching of this account) and sees the action of accusation and puts two and two together and here we are.
A careful, objective reading of the story, however, does not persuade me (and does not include) that it has anything to offer humanity as regards interpersonal communication or family dynamics or nation building.
After the accusation (apparently uncontested), the text has:
They were saying this, testing Him, so that they might have evidence to accuse Him.
If there is one aspect of the Gospel that preachers and teachers looking to cherry-pick “scriptural applications” from the text miss whole-heartedly all the day long, it is that the Pharisees wanted Jesus dead!
How these men (and now women, #metoo) always miss this, considering the Pharisees did get their way and have him killed, is incredible, but miss it they do! And when you don’t teach what the Bible says, when you don’t do your job and help people to focus on the text, you end up screwing up a whole lot more than just one little pericope (that’s “purr-i-co-pee”, long o). You end up messing with my marriage! Marriage supposedly based in the Judeo-Christian worldview, no less.
Yes, yes. I am currently accusing. I am doing the very thing I am defending myself against.
But I am right.
How can I be sure? Because I have some special power? Not special in extraterrestrial or mutation, but yes, I have a special as in precious or rare power. I can read!
And literacy leads to other things, like answering relevant questions like,
Does Jesus, Lord of Lords and King of Kings, want humans to stop “accusing” each other of mistakes and wrongdoings?
My answer is, “How would we determine such a thing? I mean, for example, I can imagine that we could read up and discover whether he ever forbids the making of accusations. (He does not.) Then we could, if we cared to, read with an eye out for whether biblical authors themselves accuse or offer stories where the protagonist accuses—and are lauded for it. (Text doesn’t have much to offer on either side of this perspective, but Titus 1:6 hardly makes sense if all accusing is to cease.)”
Over and above my literacy power, though, is something simpler. We could simply ask, “What are your intentions, my wife? Because mine are to be head of the best family I possibly can. And yours do not seem to align with mine.”
****
But this post is truly about warning myself regarding a second marriage and especially a second marriage that makes new babies.
The warning is this: Pete. You have had the worst divorce in human history—your ex steals your money daily and has kidnapped your daughter. I’m not telling you “don’t do it”. But please consider that this “felt experience” is going to feed into a heavy dread of the same thing happening again. And this means that there will be informed and resultant overreactions to the normal(?) downs of associating with the weaker sex. In short, you are entering into what may, at times, feel like a hostage situation, your kids as the leverage. A veritable, “Want to keep seeing your children? Then do as I say!” Only this time, you know all too well that everyone, including the guys (and gals, #metoo) with guns, will take her side against you.
Consider yourself warned.
****
And had I known this, I would’ve proceeded as I have, optimistically, perhaps blindly, because, as the story goes, Jesus did not come to condemn people. If my wife has the Holy Spirit inside her, as she professes and I believe to be the case, then Jesus isn’t coming for me.
Want to take my kids (#metoo)? Good luck! You won’t find any fight from me. Instead, you’ll find yourself fighting the living god.
Wait, what? It’s not about the kids? What’s this? You merely want me to change my thinking? Good luck! All you have to do is remove my ability to read (or burn all Bibles—better make it all books), wipe my memory of scripture, and drop me off anytime after, say, 1900 AD when women have decided they are head of the family. I think if you pray real hard for that, the LORD will give you that good gift. (And you’ll also get that book deal and your “healing” and “blessing” along with the thousand other attendees at your “church”.)
Lord, if you’re listening (I know, I know), do not tarry.
Some Thoughts On Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar in Genesis, the One that Played the Harlot (Not Absalom’s Sister Who Was Raped).
My wife uses the Bible to argue with me. Anyone else have a woman like this at home? It’s wonderful.
Just this morning she brought up “Judas son of Jacob”, from which I can only assume she meant (talk to text doesn’t work well for those with heavy accents) Judah. We’re already in funny-land with this, as it clearly demonstrates why surnames ever came to be. Who? Judas? Which Judas? NT Judas? Iscariot? Oh, Jacob’s son? Oh, Judah. You mean Judah? Judah, son of Jacob? Judah Jacobson. Judah Ben Jacob. Ha.
Anyhow. So the story has it that Judah’s first son, Er Judah-son, is killed by Yahweh for being evil. Par for the course. And his second son, Onan, is unwilling that his biological son become his older brother’s heir and so he will not consummate the deed. Yahweh kills him, too.
Only then do we learn the full nature of the issue. It seems Judah has this idea, perhaps divinely inspired, perhaps not, and holds to it like his last breath, that Tamar (Er’s wife) is owed a son by one of his (Judah’s) sons. So he promises Tamar that when Shelah Judah-son grows big, he can donate his seed to the common cause.
Here’s where the story gets interesting, and not just in Azeem’s, “How did your uneducated kind ever take Jerusalem?” sense.
Er’s widow Tamar (Tamar has no surname, so “Er’s widow Tamar” will have to suffice…for now) hears that Judah Jacob-son is going on a trip. It is this moment of the story that deserves grave attention. Here is the focus of this exegesis.
So she removed her widow’s garments from herself and covered herself with a veil and wrapped herself. And she sat at the entrance of Enaim, which is on the road to Timnah; for she saw that Shelah had grown up, and she had not been given to him as a wife.
“For she saw that Shelah [Judah-son] had grown up, AND she had not been given to him as a wife.”
“Vindictive little hussy” Tamar sounds more appropriate than “Er’s widow Tamar” at this point. But let’s read on.
Judah, now a widower and past the time of mourning, apparently still gets the itch. So when he sees a harlot on his trip, he begins to negotiate. Unlike, or perhaps exactly like, men from every corner and age of the planet, he didn’t think ahead and so now he is stuck. “1. Get laid but have to give her my ID to hold until I can find my darn credit card.” Or “B. Don’t get laid.”
He gives her his ID.
She takes it, gives herself to him, and then runs, never to be seen again—even after he finds his credit card.
But this, to most illiterate preachers, is still merely the setup for the punchline of the story.
(Let’s pause here for an apropos Uncle Remus saying: “You can hide the fire, but wha choo gunna do bout da smoke?!”)
Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar is soon “showing” and the affronted Judah Jacob-son wants her burned.
She wants to live and so offers Judah Jacob-son his ID back.
The next killer-line is:
And Judah recognized them and said, “She is more righteous than I, inasmuch as I did not give her to my son Shelah.”
Oh, the qualifier.
We almost had a perplexing, a-historical, fantasy account on our hands. Without the qualifier, we might have real evidence that scripture is flawed, uninspired, and not the Word of God that we all believe it to be.
So thank the LORD and his precious son, Jesus, for the qualifier.
Judah Jacob-son does not elevate Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar unreservedly, no. That would be the work of the uninspired Woke mob, post-#metoo and George Floyd and all.
Instead, since we’re reading the Word of God—which was written by men who lived thousands of years ago at a time before Jesus fulfilled Yahweh’s plan—there is a qualifier.
Nowhere does the story suggest that Vindictive Little Hussy Tamar was righteous full-stop, but it does convey that Judah Jacob-son now recognized that he hadn’t fulfilled his vow. Or as Apollo Creed says, “Some people gotta learn the hard way!”
Granted, I still have no idea why my boo brought this up in the argument over the kids’ clothes today. And granted I honestly am not 100% certain I analyzed the right story, since “Judas son of Jacob” is not certainly “Judah Jacob-son.” But these are some thoughts on Tamar, the eency-weency-bit-more-righteous woman than the John, Judah Jacob-son, little horn-dog that he was.
My Culture, A Review of Zombieland Double Tap, by Ruben Fleischer
Certain parts of life are incapable of being explained within the remaining time, and yet too important to be ignored—those parts are culture. I realized this a short while into my marriage to a woman not of my culture when I kept finding her seemingly unable to understand what I was doing, and for what reasons. Frustrated, I simply said, “Things are this way because it’s my culture.”
“‘My culture’,” she’ll repeat. “What is ‘my culture’?” remains her loving, if unbelieving, response in broken Engileezaynia.
Next time the situation presents itself, I will answer my wife’s surely earnest parry with, “Can you watch a movie? What am I thinking? Of course you can. So watch Zombieland Double Tap. When you understand it, then you will have your answer. Because that is my culture.”
What a great film. What a landmark.
America’s Husband
My wife doesn’t listen to me, so I think it’s time to offer my services more generally.
First, because it happened merely moments ago, wives and mothers of our great nation: you do not get to leave for your shitty job (whose money we don’t need) and have some soft “miss you” moment with the kids. That’s for the actually poor (not just the envious) and/or the single mothers who have a job or three because they don’t want their precious little babies pregnant at 16 too.
Next, we need to talk about envy. Yeah, yeah. The Ten Commandments forbid envy. But it was uninspired men who clarified the problem with envy. The problem is not what happens on the inside of the envious. Envy is a problem because of what the envious do as their life’s main work: sabotage.
Case in point: a wife/mother who works a shitty, low-paying job when she doesn’t have to and uses the money to keep up with the Kardashians and mega church wives. This isn’t about money. It isn’t about control. It is envy. She suffers from envy and is sabotaging the entire family—her own children most importantly.
There’s something else, you terrible wives and mothers of America. Take a first aid course. Or join Scouts. But you need to do something to stop the incessant and melodramatic overreacting to childhood.
Proceed at your own risk, reader. What you are about to read is true and terrifying.
****
So I hear J- screaming. Ag- and An- are both upstairs with him. I had just told An- to shut the bathroom door and it soon became clear that she didn’t watch out for J-’s fingers.
Next thing I know, my wife is running up the stairs as if it’s D-Day and someone just called “Corman!!”
I sat at the table, shaking my head and dreading this totally unnecessary scene.
A moment later and J- is still crying. My wife is now frantic.
I can’t completely suppress my humanity, and I am curious if there is about to be some blood or a clearly distorted digit.
I finally see the boy’s hand as my wife carries him down the stairs and into view and it is…completely normal looking.
He is still crying.
My wife has now grabbed some ice from the freezer and is trying to apply it to his hand.
J- is not having it. He is constantly ripping himself from her grip and every time the slower-moving particles approach his hand, he shrieks louder as only toddlers are wont to do.
Next, (when will it end, I wonder?) my wife grabs a towel and tries again with the ice, this time, though, insulated by a grimy kitchen towel.
From upstairs, to the kitchen table, and now the stairs, J- is holding his ground. Rather, he is running the show and displaying a sinewy—if still covered in baby fat—wile that impresses even me. Given the situation, I am compelled to believe it comes from his man-mind.
“Where is your instinct, woman?!” I finally erupt. “He doesn’t want the ice. He isn’t hurt. Why would you keep fighting against him?”
Catechizing rabbits.
“How about this? I’ll stop if you can answer a question. What does ice do?”
Crickets.
“J-.”
The boy stops crying (face is still a slobbery mix of tears and snot and spit) at the sound of reason and calm.
“J- just go downstairs and play.”
He turns.
“Or if you want to go upstairs and play with your trains, that’s fine too.”
He chooses trains and heads up the stairs, hands and feet in action.
Pause the story here and ask yourself, “Why would the mother not worship her husband and the father at this point?”
Back to the story.
“Nag nag nag.” (I honestly don’t remember what she said.)
“What does the ice do?”
And now, as typical, she believes I am belittling her in front of the kids and fires off on that accord.
I turn to A- (who had apparently taken a seat beside me at the table to enjoy the show) and say, “Ice reduces swelling.”
A- turns to her mom and begins, “Momma, ic-.”
I stop her. “No, A-. I am teaching you.”
****
What, wives, in the hell are you thinking ice does? You saw some doctor use it once? Does it cure COVID?
In short, my beloveds, I will not feel bad for being aware that you can somehow look past a screaming child in order to apply, what to you, is merely an old wives’ tale remedy to a non-injury.
Hotness
I mentioned that I have a little thing I say to the toddlers every night before bed. I want to use that fact to expand on a larger concept—perhaps the largest concept of them all—understanding.
My estranged daughter, H- (now 14), from the old days of mostly happy-go-lucky blogging, asked if I could have her half-siblings say something different before bed than the routine we had. I agreed—you know, ‘cuz children are so gentle. After all, as a divorced dad with limited parenting time because I have a job unlike her worthless mother, I wouldn’t want to do anything would’ve caused H- to stop talking to me.
Anyhow, here’s what I came up with instead of the Boy Scout Law and Apostle’s Creed. It’s far simpler and more focused. I simply started saying, “Everyone goes to sleep the same way. Big people and little people. Tall people and short people. Fat people and skinny people. Old people and young people. Beautiful people and ugly people. They all go to sleep the same way. They lay down and close their eyes.”
Pretty great, eh?
Of course I have developed little flourishes here and there—because I can’t help but want the kids to laugh.
Here’s the kicker. At some point I started asking, “Do you wanna know something?” And then A- would excitedly answer in kind. And soon she knew it wasn’t some new fact or whatever she had imagined the first few times, but just the intro to the thing.
Well, that got old quickly, so recently, and because I judged she could handle it after seeing how she seems to understand certain types of humor, I started connecting the litany to some earlier part of the concluding day. Maybe, “Did I tell you want I saw on a sign today?” Or, “Do you remember that funny looking man? Do you known what he told me today?”
And you know what? She understands. I know she understands because she no longer is parroting anything, but considers context and then chuckles—and get this—even though she knows the event mentioned never happened, she knows what is next.
In contradistinction to this (I’ve written about this before) I have witnessed—been horrified to learn—that it is possible to simply parrot. Folks acquire some sort of skill to get what they want, but they have no understanding. In a sense, they simply bully their way through life.
How does it work, Pete?
Good question.
Just like the bird. The person repeats whatever phrase they have noticed through trial and error achieves the goal. But try to talk to the person or ask them a question, and, as I think Thoreau or Emerson said of the Injuns, “It’s like catechizing rabbits.”
Where does “hotness” fit in? I am hot today. Every Sunday home I am hot.
Why Sundays? Because on Sundays, church day, the fullness of the lack of understanding comes to a point.
Blended families are terribly difficult—maybe completely impossible. But ones in which there are members who constantly illustrate their absolute lack of understanding may just be the dumbest idea mankind has ever allowed.
One family going to separate churches Sunday mornings not only breaks every understanding of “family” to pieces, but everything that family is responsible for—which is everything.
Captain’s Log 