When the World Explodes

Dad.

What?

Dad?

What?

I'm talking to you . . .

What?

Will be be babies again after the world explodes?

Some people think so.

Will you make me a ninja axe?

I'll tell you what. I'll make you a ninja axe after you take a little nap.

Noooo. I don't take naps anymore. I don't like them. I like video games and toys and presents and sex.

What did you say? . . . take the lollipop out of your mouth. What did you say?

Sets.

What do you mean by sets?

Like the monster truck sets with the racing track.

Oh. Okay. I'll tell you what. I'm gonna take a nap and if you're really quiet, I'll make you a ninja axe when I get up.

So I can play video games and if they get too hard, I'll play something else.

Good call. Do you need something to eat or drink before I go take a nap?

No.

Okay.

I wanted Calvin to take a nap this afternoon cause he's been sick with what ever new virus is running around. Joann got it. Taylor got it. And it skipped me this time because it always skips someone in this house and the universe is insisting that I have shit to do.

So as I was laying there thinking about how I was going to make a ninja axe and then it occurred to me that I can't keep throwing softball answers to Calvin's questions of mortality forever. Actually, I can, and I probably will, but sometimes it would almost be worth it to have a religion that I could point to and say "Son, the answers to your questions are in this book."

"But dad" he would say. "This is a cooking book."

"That's right son" I would say. "Now turn the next page and let me show you how to julienne carrots."

It should be that easy. We have food, shelter, and Star Wars for the Wii. That should be all.

But it isn't.

And this question of when the world explodes is something he goes to sleep at night with. I think he sometimes uses video games and various home made weaponry in order to silence this nagging question of what lays beyond the here and now. He's making the painful steps beyond self awareness and into the great unknown and it fills his heart with dread.

And I sort of refuse to "Tooth Fairy" my way out of this one. And he'll forever be rejecting the fact that I don't know what happens when the world explodes, because I'm Dad, and I must be keeping something from him.

Maybe I should just tell him what I hope.

The when the world explodes. . .

there will be peace.

And I don't mean the black nothingness of the infinite sleep, I mean the fully conscience, reflective peace. All the good moments of our lives displayed before us. Stretching out into infinity. And that the whole purpose of life is to fill that infinity with as many loving and wonderful moments as we can. I wonder if he'll accept that as an answer.

Probably not.

Either way.

I still have a ninja axe to grind.