Coloring Eggs and All of That

I bristle every time I have to apologize for being human. I become annoyed every time I have to claim to be imperfect. I know I’m imperfect. My kids know I’m not perfect. My wife surely knows. I don’t think it’s a big secret.

I’m fairly sure everyone makes mistakes, does stupid things and has impure thoughts from time to time, (okay, lots of times). Head to your particular place of congregation and you’ll be directed to bow your head and ask forgiveness for being you. Because you are Just. Not. Good. Enough.

Let’s be honest. You’re Just. Not. Good.

That’s what is lacking. Honesty. Just once I’d like to see someone look down from the pulpit and say, “Look, I don’t know how all of this stuff got here. The explanations in this book are ridiculous. What we really need is hope. Hope that there will be a better future than the present we’re all stuck in.

Let’s look to each other and hope for the best. In that, you are all good enough.”

That’s a fantasy I can get behind.

The internet is full of stories about the coming day. Stories about how it began, its roots, its meanings and its relevance to our lives. I’ve read enough, believed enough and repeated enough of those stories to make people around me smile blankly when I start ramping up. Tired, they are, of my ramblings. Quiet, be, I must.

I’m done.

None of it matters. If you believe, fine. If you don’t, fine. If you want to force your fantasies on me, well… I still have a problem with that, but that’s another story.

Here’s the thing, though. Here’s the important thing that makes all the difference in the world.

When your kid asks you to come and color Easter eggs, it’s not about the origins of the tale, or the story’s relevance to our daily struggles or any of that other maudlin bullshit.

It’s about spending time with the people you love. Everything else is just pretense and getting up early on weekends.