This One's For the Lord

The few friends I have usually call and announce they are minutes away. This isn’t because my hatred for the “pop in” visit is fierce enough to be common knowledge, it’s because they know there’s a chance I’ve managed to get Mrs. Bastard all drunk and uninhibited. So when the doorbell rang this Saturday afternoon, I was instantly suspicious.

A man with shaved head and one pale useless eye cocked to the outer corner while the other was a cool shade of blue, looked steadily back at me as I opened the door. He was dressed for church in a long sleeved collared shirt and a simple tie. He held a bible and some magazines.

Behind him my small dog Ellie, a Pomeranian/terrier mix, what I call a mutt, ran excitedly behind a woman holding a baby on one hip and while her other hand rested on a small boy. Ellie held a rare quality for a small dog that made her a tolerable pet—she wasn’t barky.

"We're sharing a bible verse today." He told me. I kept eye contact, thinking, "Oh good. Just what I wanted to do. Shoo a man, his family and the Lord off my doorstep."

My dog hops up on her hind legs when she's excited, and few things excite the lil bitch like people, so she was all but bouncing in front of the lady holding her baby. By her was an empty stroller and I wondered how many hours she had committed to do knock on doors and smile pretty, silently and obediently supporting her master—I mean husband.

"Have you ever thought about the power one man giving his life . . ." he kept talking, but my three year old son ran past me and to the outside foyer where the man’s family had spread out. My own stopped right in front of the man’s son, looking eye to eye, they were the same height exactly. He was in a little button up church outfit. My son was in a plain blue t-shirt and denim shorts--much more Saturday in my mind.

They exchanged greetings.

"Hi!"

"Hi."

"Wanna play m'toys?" My son asked.

His son looked shyly at the ground and nodded yes. My son ran back inside making the "follow me" gesture over his shoulder. His son tried to run past his talking father but was thwarted as his dad blocked the advance by palming his son's skull like a hat and gently pulling him away from my house. He did this without missing a beat as he read from his bible.

I was instantly resentful of this one eyed man going door to door looking for fresh recruits. Before our very eyes our sons had demonstrated how simple getting along could be. But here he was, in my face and at the threshold of my home insisting we talk about religion.

Religion being one of those topics most of us have emotions around. You can't really have a discussion about those kinds of topics, there are just too many nerves you end up raking over.

I live in Southern Utah--I admitted that up front so don't get all weird about it now. Mormons are goddamn everywhere, and I am very used to having neighbors call "The Church" and sending missionaries come knock on my door, you know, just incase I somehow got lost in the shuffle. I'm pretty good at sending 'em packing in a timely fashion.

If these well dressed cats were slinging the LDS version of The Lord this was a new tactic. I have to admit, I didn't quite know how to form the words explaining they had to get going, no offense or anything.

As I silently savored my adrenaline over the anticipation of the conversation I already resented having to have, my son sensed the tension. I looked back at my little guy as the bald man droned on in a voice dull and devoid of emotion. He was wondering if the other kid was going to come in.

I shook my head and he scampered off. I decided passive resistance was my best option. A man in front of his family has a lot on the line—god alone what might provoke a, “You do NOT talk like THAT in front of my FAMILY” kind of response.

Any conversation was a bad idea, especially since I was feeling less than receptive over the entire situation. I let him talk, his bible held open with his finger pointing at the scripture he was reading.

I kept looking at his wife, thinking her plain brown skirt was the kind my own wife would like. She wouldn't look at me. She would look my way putting me in the field of her peripheral vision, but never a direct look.

He finished reading and explained he was sure I'd heard of the magazines he was holding. I didn't look away from his one staring eye. "Nope."

"Would you like these copies? They're free--"

"That's alright."

"Well, they would appeal to any Christian minded person. There's a lot of good stuff." He held them up near his face, insisting I see them.

I said nothing and noticed it was an incredibly nice day. People are generally uncomfortable with silence. I weather it by spacing off.

"Ok." He broke the stare, and stepped back. Like a school of fish changing direction, he and his mute family turned and retreated away from my house. "Have a nice day."

As I wondered over what it must be like to go trick or treating for followers of the Lord, I almost said something back. Something vaguely encouraging like “Good luck out there,” or “May the Dark Unlord Guide thy Shadow,” but instead I shut the door. And locked it.