he remembered it and went to fetch it for me to read to him.
Okay. This thing was ridiculous. The Ten Commandments for kids. Cartoony and definitely geared for young children.
"For Kids Who Like To Think!" said the cover.
And here I was, me with my Pagan Ways, about to read this damn thing to my precious, pure grandson.
"Owen," I said. "This is what some people believe. That does not make it true. Okay?"
"Okay," he said.
I read him the Ten Commandments. As presented.
And sure, there's some good stuff in those commandments. I'm right onboard with Thou Shalt Not Kill. Although this tract used the more easily rationalized, "You shall not murder." With a bomb. Are we talking terrorist attacks here? Stealing and lying are wrong in my opinion too. I like the idea of honoring your parents. If they deserve it. But not having other gods before The Big Guy? Not making idols? Eh, not so much.
And how to explain committing adultery to a three-year old? He didn't ask and I didn't try.
So we went through the commandments and I said, "Okay, that's it," and went to put the tract down. He said, "No. There's more."
So we flipped over to this page:
I sighed and began to ask him the questions.
"Okay, Owen. Have you always obeyed your parents?"
"No," he admitted without hesitation.
"Have you ever lied?"
"Yes." Again, no hesitation whatsoever.
"Have you always loved god?"
"No." As solemnly as a...preacher.
"Have you ever stolen anything?"
"Have you ever been greedy?"
He showed no remorse for any of these answers. He was just being truthful.
I pulled him closer to me and laughed and laughed and said, "Owen, I adore you so much. I love you. You are perfect."
And he is. And I did my job and read the stupid thing to him because that's what he wanted and when Gibson brought me a book entitled "Farm Animals" I read that to him. And later, Owen wanted to hear Danny and the Dinosaur and we read that too.
I am a grandmother. This is what I do. And then I come here and write about it because this is who I am. I dreamed last night that I was looking for a hard copy of this blog (which I do not have in real life) and I found part of it on one of the shelves of a changing table that I had in real life when Hank was a baby.
I don't need to consult a psychiatrist to figure that one out.
Happy Friday, y'all.