The Day I Met God, Part I (Sisters)

Posted on April 2, 2015 by qrparker

My early childhood memory is a blurred-out Freudian fog of diluted spirituality, but, within the fog, several memories stand out like wayward stone statues. Among these one stands out in particular: the day I met God.

I was born first in my family, and enjoyed the attention for a solid eighteen months.

When my mother became pregnant with Sister-One, she endured countless horror stories about second children – mainly that the first child would become jealous about sharing the spotlight, and would inflict all manner of terrible punishment onto his new cohost.

Despite the warnings (and despite the fact that I already fulfilled every possible need a child could fulfill, MOM) they still decided to go through the creation of an unnecessary additional life.

Sister-One came into the world in the usual way, and we met.

Years of books, relatives, and PBS programs had prepared my mother for the plague of envy a toddler will inflict upon a new baby, as they felt the extra affection, college tuition, and birthday gifts vanishing into the alternate reality of only-childhood.

What my mother did not prepare for was that, rather than viewing Sister-One as a competitor for parental love, I viewed her as a valuable commodity in my own selfish ventures. Keen to make her my subordinate, I teased her with genuine but distant affection. By the time she could walk, Sister-One was not only awed by my intellect and fine-motor skills, but eager to win my favor as the alpha-child.

Our duo was well-established when, out of the pale maroon of our carpet, a new character was added to the roster. Her name was Sister-Two.

She was born into a world where she was the smallest being, a terribly desperate position. The two beings closest to her in size seemed to be having an excellent time though, so becoming a part of their group seemed a worthy and obtainable goal.

Hazing is a strange, dark, and prevalent ritual in human culture. Through the application of physical pain and psychological anguish, a being is stripped of their identity in such a way where it becomes possible from them to enter a collective. It is used in violent gangs, douchey fraternities, and small children.

In retrospect, I’m quite ashamed of how I treated Sister-Two during her formative years, and most have been forgiven and forgotten, but there are two things I did to Sister-Two that I’ll always remember.

It was piss, in case you’re a good person.

I can’t imagine what it feels like to discover your children are the kind of people who make other people drink pee, but I know my parents didn’t take it very well.

It was shortly after this the family began to attend church.

MALAKIM

Posted on December 19, 2013 by qrparker

This is something I made using Windows Movie Maker and MS Paint when I was supposed to be doing homework.

Winter

Posted on November 21, 2013 by qrparker

This morning I awoke to discover my environment had been murdered by icy white particles from the sky.

I’m safe in my room, curled beneath a heavy blanket, holding a cup of instant coffee. I huddle close to my overheating laptop like it’s some futuristic fire. There is a certain serenity in the snow outside my window.

Back in middle school, when it snowed, kids would still wear shorts. Their legs never seemed cold. I shivered beneath three layers.

In high school, I drove to school on icy roads that made my wheels spin. The icy roads stretched out towards infinity, with sidegaurds so small you wonder why they even put them up. People slid off the road all the time. It was so easy to do.

It was the day I was to be confirmed into the Catholic Church. The roads were pure slick and my mother was scared. We had an old green van with worn-in tires and two-wheel drive.

I was stuffed into this ugly brown-yellow suit all boys are forced to wear to at some point in the lives. I was sick with either pneumonia or strep. All I remember was I felt like death and my lungs hurt and my face was hot. And that I really, really wanted to be confirmed.

The road grew worse as the world grew darker. My mother’s voice was terrified. I took out my rosary and began to pray, silently. I knew that if God were to choose a moment in my life to actually listen, it had to be this one.

I understood why he’d ignore a prayer for me to be thin, or for me to have friends, or for somehow one to lead into the other.

God had his reasons.

But this was different. This was about him. This was about entering his church. If there was one moment in my life where’d he choice to intervene, it should be this one.

When my mother lost control of the vehicle, everything slowed down. God made sure I saw every instant between the road and the ditch, and made sure there was nothing I could do to stop it. But I didn’t stop praying.

It wasn’t the last time I’d prayed, or even the last time I’d prayed and believed someone was listening.

But it was the last time I prayed and believed anyone cared.

I never made it to my confirmation.

~Fin

The Troglodyte’s Guide to Ego

Posted on November 7, 2013 by qrparker

Sometimes I look out at the fleshy, squishy, hairy collection of cells we call the human body and I wonder how anyone could possibly have an ego.

Now, that isn’t to say I don’t understand why we have an ego. The ego is what makes your emotions feel real. In order for a tribe to survive, there has to be a certain drive for personal achievement. You have to be willing to fight saber-tooth tigers.

Emotions are our quickest and most accessible tool for deciphering a situation and, as such, we rely on them way too much.

Unfortunately, egos can be damaged and, like a balloon filling with air, the larger they get the quicker they pop.

Our emotions pass through our ego, inflating it, telling us when someone has insulted us. They feel so very powerful, we assume they’re real. And they are real.

But real and objective are not the same thing.Perception is important. It’s what makes us unique.

But unique and correct are not the same thing.

No matter how amazing you think your idea is, it’s been done before. Through the power of the internet, the whole world is connected. Concepts and thoughts and mindless chatter all mix together and swirl around to give voice to every idea ever conceived.

Your job is to interpret this whirlpool as honestly as possible. Grab in with your hands and clasp an idea you believe in.

If an ego is useful for anything, it’s sorting out the problems in yourself. When you feel it flare up, that means you’re doing something wrong. You’ve fallen too deeply in love with yourself. You can’t admit you have flaws, because they’re cauterized into your psyche and you know removing them will be painful. Shaving off the infection will take some of the skin. Skin you’d like to keep.You don’t want to fall.

But sometime you must fall into the six-lashed eye.

And we all do eventually.

~Fin

Dealing with Jesus Bros

Posted on September 24, 2013 by qrparker

So on my campus there’s these dudes that sometimes come up to you. I think there might be girls too, but so far only dudes have come up to me, and they always say something like “can I ask you a question real quick?”

They always say “real quick” or “real fast” in order to emphasize how brief the time you spend together will be, like I’m expected to believe the dude chatting up strangers doesn’t have a lot of free time.

Back in early years, when I was naïve and optimistic freshman, I actually tried to listen to these guys. We’re all part of this beautiful collegiate learning family, aren’t we? Why shouldn’t I listen to what my brother in education has to say?

As it turns out, they only cared about one thing…Our Lord and Savior—Jesus Christmas.

I have dubbed these men the esteemed title of JESUS BROS.

Now, Freshman Me was never a huge fan of organized religion, no matter how ripped and delicately draped in loincloths they made their personal saviors. Even as a kid, I was pretty sure that Jesus looked less like a Hitler’s ideal swimwear model and more like the people we were at ~~war~~ peaceful conflict mission with.

Nevertheless, I thought that these people might have something to offer me, so every time one of these guys approached me on campus I tried to listen.

Pretty soon, however, I began to realize these guys didn’t share my platonic concept of open dialects. Instead, they liked to hit rhetorical passive aggression statements like “If you had the chance to save your soul right now, only a fool would pass up this opportunity, right?” or “If someone loves you with all his heart, shouldn’t you at least try to love him back?”

I began to hear these key phrases repeated so often, in such analogous order, that I grew suspicious if my side was being listened to at all. And then, just as one of these Jesus Bros was about to hit the climax of his speech, it came to me…