You guys know me. I rarely get angry, even though I’m a daddy blogger and it’s practically my job to get angry about anything child-related.
That’s just how smooth and cool I am.
But when I saw this thing on the Internet about some guy who isn’t raising his children with god, I became furious. Who does this guy think he is? What does he mean, he’s raising his kids without god? Who’s he raising them with? Sigourney Weaver?
I don’t know the answers to those and many other questions because I didn’t actually read the post. I was too angry about the headline!
Excuse me for being old school, but I AM raising my child with god.
You’re rolling your eyes right now, aren’t you? Well stop it.
The god I’m raising my child with isn’t a large white man with a big beard. He’s not even a man. He’s this:
Look at those eyes, beaming like lights in a head, always watching, waiting, judging. And that mouth, almost grill-like, in a permanent, judging frown. And those cheeks? Oh, the cheeks! Puffed up, full of air, but rubbery to the touch! He’s so intimidating.
So when the boy misbehaves, I tell him to be careful, because god is watching. And we both look over at the thing in the corner.
And the boy starts to tremble. That’s how I know he’s going to be a good person.
Now, my lady friend claims that this thing is not actually God, but a toy for children to ride.
When she says that, I usually just fall to the ground, screaming and weeping until she leaves the room.
And from the corner of my eye, I can see God smiling, because I’ve served him well.