This better when you know that #5, eight years old, still has a very sweet sounding inability to properly say his r’s, which we are assured he will grow out of any minute now.
October. My father and stepmother (Southern Baptists) are up from Kentucky for a visit. We (Heathens) are having a Sunday family breakfast. CC has cooked an amazing spread. Nobody is paying attention to how much bacon #5 is eating. Before long, there is an empty serving dish next to him; a dish that once held more than a pound of bacon.
He has been staring out the window, looking deep in thought. Still staring out the window, he speaks. He bestows the following upon us, and we are left in a stupefied silence trying to make sense both of what he says and the quanity of bacon he has ingested.
#5: In squirrel church, God is an acorn.
Some days I wish I still drank.