"It is Monday morning, six weeks after my wife and I learned that she is pregnant with our first child, and I am stopped at a traffic light. The kid doesn't have a chance. It's a trick. I know this God; I know how He works. The baby will me miscarried, or die during childbirth, or my wife will die during childbirth, or they'll both die during childbirth, or neither of them will die and I'll think I'm in the clear, and then on the drive home from the hospital, we'll collide head-on with a drunk driver and they'll both die later, my wife and child, in the emergency room just down the hall from the room where only minutes ago we stood so happy and alive and full of promise.
That would be so God.
The teachers from my youth are gone, the parents old and mostly estranged. The man they told me about, though - he's still around. I can't shake him. I read Spinoza, I read Nietzche. I read National Lampoon. Nothing helps. I live with Him every day, and behold, He is still angry still vengeful still - eternally - pissed off.
- Man plans, my parents said, - and God laughs.
- When you least expect it, my teachers warned, - expect it."
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