I pretend I don't understand it. Their sudden religious revival, I mean. "What's the deal with that?" I ask them. We've never been the church going type of family. We've never really been overtly religious.
"There's an exhibit at the museum," I said. "About evolution. You can sign the guestbook, but it's full of creationists going on about how stupid evolution is. It's ridiculous. I mean, creationists: what's the deal?" The car was quiet for a while. "Um." I added. "Are you guys creationists?" "Yes." My parents said. "Oh." I replied.
"Why don't you understand?" She asked me. It's not that I don't understand. I do understand. I can see why it's happening. He was already over there for a year. They need something to hold onto. Something higher that they can lean on when they need it. When they need the help. When you start staring down another year of that it only makes sense. Portable stability. Purpose. Peace.
I want that too. I want that security for myself. I want some kind of crutch because I know there's a chance that he might not come back this time. I might even need that. It's just that I can't help but fight it. I can't bring myself to accept it completely. There's a wall. A block. I'm holding myself back and I don't want that. When do I outgrow the rebellious teenager?
"There's an exhibit at the museum," I said. "About evolution. You can sign the guestbook, but it's full of creationists going on about how stupid evolution is. It's ridiculous. I mean, creationists: what's the deal?" The car was quiet for a while. "Um." I added. "Are you guys creationists?" "Yes." My parents said. "Oh." I replied.
"Why don't you understand?" She asked me. It's not that I don't understand. I do understand. I can see why it's happening. He was already over there for a year. They need something to hold onto. Something higher that they can lean on when they need it. When they need the help. When you start staring down another year of that it only makes sense. Portable stability. Purpose. Peace.
I want that too. I want that security for myself. I want some kind of crutch because I know there's a chance that he might not come back this time. I might even need that. It's just that I can't help but fight it. I can't bring myself to accept it completely. There's a wall. A block. I'm holding myself back and I don't want that. When do I outgrow the rebellious teenager?
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