Lord’s supper, I’ve got upside crosses on my finger nails

I really like my dad. Basically, my dad grew up in the north west with horses and serious shit involving the depression. I did the math, and my dad is from the exact era of the show Mad Men. He is similar to these men. He is big on male and female roles being fulfilled. None of this gender mixing and mashing. How dare I burn candles in my room. I like my dad because without him I wouldn’t be here. So basically he became a Christian during the Korean War. He met my mom at a Christian picnic when he came back to the states. My mom was getting ready to be a missionary in Ecuador. I could’ve grown up in Ecuador. My mom named me Roger after an American boy in Ecuador. My middle name is Neal, a stretch from Neil Armstrong, landing on the moon. My mom spelled it Neal, to make me different, and boy did I turn out different. There were spears and stuffed alligators and pictures of white skinned Jesus’s throughout my home. So anyway, my dad likes to shoot the shit with me on the phone. I think that he likes to make me mad. He tells me to read the bible everyday. He says that God wants to hear from me. I tell him that god’s plan is far from efficient. So while hot milk spills on me at work, there is some other person stuck in a storm, someone else is receiving a large amount of money. Really? God? You’re kind of not cool. And also God has senile men in beards and dirty robes writing his good work. I’m NOT turned on, to say the least. So I love my dad, but I don’t need this “saving.” I am not sinful, not a bad person, not born into it. I am not super enough. No more holding me back. If I am so damaged then I will fight for those not so abused by religion. Am I crazy? Raise your kids without religion and watch them flourish. Give me a hug or a punch next time you see me. Your choice.

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