Renouncing the Devil

This was the first year in many that I took the long flight back home for my Thanksgiving break. While the feast was quite alluring (my grandmother makes a mean ham), the real reason for the voyage was one Zoe Oar:



That is Zoe. She is the daughter of Brandy and Kalani Oar, the former being one of my most beloved cousins. The young babe is nearly a year old and is a fantastic example of human genetics at its finest. She's gorgeous, Zoe is, and quiet and smiley and wonderful to hold. A very easy human being to love.

I was asked by Brandy and Kalani to become Zoe's godfather. There is, admittedly, an odd feeling that came over me when I was asked. Firstly, I'm not religious. Secondly, they (the parents of Zoe) know I'm not religous. In fact, I do believe I've explained this very story to Brandy on at least one occassion:

When I was a youngster, in first grade, I attended Riviera Hall Lutheran School. It was a great little school at the base of Palos Verdes in Redondo Beach. Part of the education there was to go to chapel once every Tuesday and then to have Bible Studies on every Thursday. Chapel was pretty awesome because Pastor Cindy let us sing songs and rock out and I was always a big fan of that. I think we even did some singing in a round. How about that? Anyway, the other thing, the Bible Studies class, it wasn't quite so wonderful. Our teachers would have us snap out our Bible Studies book, which was really just a flimsy coloring book, and we'd color in pictures of Jesus and Mary and Saul. This wasn't so bad. But, we'd also have to talk about the stories in The Bible. And, as much as the stories were pretty cool as well, I was always frustrated because there was no historical evidence for their truth. Once, we were discussing David and Goliath. I thought this story was just the shits and giggles. A little dude just like me taking out a huge heiffer of a man, well, it gave me hope. But then I raised my hand. Mrs. Steves said, "Yes, Alfred?" I said, "So, uhm, where are the bones?" She was confused and didn't understand my question. "Well," I said, "where are Goliath's bones? How do we know he was really that big?" A nice grin appeared on her face. "Alfred," she said, "this is a story from The Bible. This is God's truth. We have faith in these things. They may have been a little different, but they did happen." That wasn't good enough for me, though. "Okay," I said, "so where are the bones? I mean, we have the dinosaur bones. Where are Goliath's bones?" Mrs. Steves was frustrated and kept deflecting my question until she finally said, "Out. Outside Alfred. Timeout!"

Well, since then I've never been a big fan of religion. The stories are pretty wonderful, and I truly do understand how they can help a person get by in life, but they don't mean much to me. I've found other things (books, music) which give me a lot more strength. Thing is, I've now studied enough about the creation of The Bible and the many hundreds of years it took to create it, and I've studied about how religion has, without a doubt, been used again and again to indoctrinate and dominate less fortunate classes of people. Well, phooey! That's what I say.

But, then, why ask me to be the godfather? Well, actually, I get it. Out of anyone in our family, I do believe I'm very fit to help raise Zoe. And, in fact, I think I'm very fit to raise her in the ways of the church. Just because I'm not religious doesn't meant that I don't understand and agree with many of the moral tenants of the church. I think, at its heart, the Catholic religion has a positive idea. And it's that idea that I'm very suited to help instill in Zoe. So, of course, I said yes.

So then there we were, Alicia (Brandy's sister and Zoe's godmother) and I, on the steps of American Martyr's Church, renouncing the devil and accepting Jesus as our one true savior. Holy apostolic church, holy water, a dunking of Zoe's head, and the deed was done. All I could think about for most of the ceremony was the fact that my own godfather, Bob Trumpeta, once did the same thing and how I couldn't see him getting through the thing without a hefty dose of laughter. Probably his bones were jiggling in his grave. Zoe was fussy, which is unusual for her, and I grabbed her and held her and, with the help of her holy candle, she calmed down. We feasted and hung out with family and it was a memory added to the memory banks. It looked like this:


Me and Zoe


Me and Thanksgiving (I made cream puffs)


Me and the room I grew up in


Syd Vicious, my niece


Brandy the Chef


dice game that I won


Mother Jo


Me and Sister Amy



Zoe and Uncle Zack


Thanksgiving Crew

So then came Thanksgiving and I won everyone's money during this dice-throwing game my mom made us play. I got $86 and that was nice. I've almost run out of it at this point, but it turned into some good sandwiches along the way. I played with my niece Syd Vicious a bunch. I went to Shellback (our local bar) with Tolga and saw old nobodies still being busy with their own lives. I tried to run and hacked up a lung. I slaved away at a horrible story. I ate lots of Mexican food. I watched my half-brother implode and start throwing shit at my family and then watched him drive off drunk as all hell, which, of course, is totally okay since he's a cop.

A classic Thanksgiving trip home. Cat Power with Michelle, too. And a trip up to the hills with Alicia and Mike:



And at least I got to renounce the devil. Fuck him.

Then my mom drove me to the airport in darkness:



Then I flew back to NYC:



Al