Why my dad is awesome.

There are a few things you should know about me and church.

First of all, I'm not really willing to discuss my religion or faith right here, right now. But I don't go to church because of religion or faith: I go because I know it's important to my dad. I have grown to appreciate and even like a good number of the people there, but it's still not really my thing. You have probably noticed that I have a tendency to refer to it as "my dad's church," never as "my church" or "my family's church" (the latter being the least accurate, considering my mother).

So it's not that bad, and I do like to see Alienor/Rebecca/Carole&Ruth etc. I still like to put up a good fight, though. This morning I walked into my parents' room, fell onto the bed, and addressed my father in a slow drawl.

"Dad, you know that song they make the kids sing in Sunday School? The one that goes 'I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together?' The idea is that the church is more than a building, but is a whole bunch of people." My mother began here to laugh, sensing the direction I was heading in. "So if everyone is the church, why does everyone have to go sit in a building every Sunday?"

My father was ready with his rebuttal.

"The answer to your question, dear, is that the song has another part that they don't make them sing. It's the sixth verse." He began to move his hands in a classic dancing technique. "I have a father, you have a father, he makes us go to chuuurch."

Mom laughed again. "Your dad's on a roll today. I don't know what he had for breakfast, but we should all have some of it."

"Muesli," I said. (My parents and I had a discussion once about muesli. I said something like, "Muesli makes it easier in the mornings." My mom told me that sounded like a laxative commercial. We laughed. Yeah.)

He wasn't finished. "I have a father, you have a father, and he is such a jer-rch."

Tom, who was listening from his room, yelled, "It's jerk!"

"It's the Old English variation. You know, ch instead of k." He turned back to his guitar tabs.

"Can you imagine being married to him?" asked my mom.

This evening we decided that I'm going to be the kid who keeps calling them up and asking for money. "After all, your interests are music and English," Dad pointed out, "both of which are financial losers."

Speaking of music, I think Le Tombeau de Couperin is going to become one of my Dance Macabre-style fixations. I'll play it. Someday.

Don't worry about it.