In The Foxhole

There is an old expression that everyone has heard: there are no atheists in a fox hole. With Hurricane Rita bearing down on the Gulf Coast, my sister has seen the light, and understands the true nature of God.

It has officially spread now to every member of my family in Houston; they are all true believers now. Excepting for my brother, who honestly could use a dose of religion right now. I'm not an atheist, but neither am I a church goer. It seems that God is like another addiction, a weird virus that infects us all until we wander the streets of Cairo chanting, "Imhotep, Imhotep."

I hope I am not offending the holy powers, but if my children are wandering the streets screaming my praises, I would be flattered, but after a while I would consider them a little insane. I would tell them to turn more inward and find that same love for themselves, to quit using me as a crutch.

My sister dated a boy some years ago who had a disabling fear of cities and people of different colors. They existed in a tight group and never wandered far. He was a nice guy; he didn't do drugs or drink, and in all other categories was an upstanding citizen, but the guy was a whackamole. And my sister bought into his rhetoric--for a while.

She dated a boy in high school, and carried his pistol in her purse. They broke up when he went to jail. She waited for a while, but thankfully she came to her senses.

She had a child with a drug addict, and became embroiled in the drug culture for a span, but once again, she came to her senses and dumped him, and started on her life of a single mom, barely into her twenties.

Along came Charley, a man child who lived to surf and party with his friends and brothers. If he was five feet tall I would be shocked. I didn't see the love at all, but they got married quietly and announced it later. He wanted a child of his own, but when a little girl was born, he showed not an ounce of enthusiasm to raise her--no doubt he hoped for a boy--spending more and more time away with his "brahs." Hang ten asshole. At least my sister got the house in the divorce.

Her latest boyfriend, whose praises I was singing only yesterday, is a loan salesman, with that typical smarmy, too-good-to-be-true personality that gives sales people a bad rap. I called my sister today to tell her to tape her windows to prevent inward shattering. She didn't want to talk about that because, as she put it, "I found God."

"Congratulations."

"I mean it, I found God."

"I'm happy for you. Listen, did you tape your w..."

"You are not hearing me."

"Listen, if God gets you through this hurricane then I'm happy for you. But I've already been given the sales pitch before."

She said, "Now I understand my mother. Her husband is God, and she has been trying to tell me about him for years. I've gone to church but I never heard; I never understood. God guides her actions."

"Really. Is it God that guided her fist into my belly when I was a little boy? Was she following Gods plan then?"

Then she put her boyfriend on the phone, who proceeded to tell me about how great a person my step-mother is, and how God speaks through her. It was everything I could do to keep my cool with this presumptuous prick.

"Listen," I said, "You don't have the first clue as to how she is or what motivates her, but if you hang out long enough, you will. That I promise you. Right now, I'm worried about the hurricane that is bearing down on you and how my family is prepared. Ok?"

This sobered him up and he told me earnestly that he had taped the windows, that a two story home stood between them and the winds that were to come. Then he let me talk to my sister and I said a quick goodbye. I hope it wasn't my last.