LAST night I talked to my dad about God. He came home drunk and he was hollering around like usual, so I got mad at him. I told him not to drink. I told him to pray. He looked at me for a long time. Then he sat down and listened to me with his face in his hands. At first I thought he was laughing. Then I thought maybe he was crying.
After that I didn’t know what to do so I jumped up on the chair and got the holy picture down from the little shelf in the living room. It was a picture of Jesus dying on the cross. There, I told Dad, look at Jesus. He died on the cross for you, for all of us. Pray, and stop your drinking. Stop cussing. Stop fighting with Mum. Dad, bad people go to hell. After that he got up and stumbled into the other room and closed the door.
I don’t know if I did the right thing or not. But he embarrassed us when the missionary came for Sunday dinner after Mass. Mum cooked all morning while Dorothy, Missy and me went with Father Jeremy to the Sunday service at the Ntslatko Reserve. Mum cooked chicken and gravy and mashed potatoes and carrots and homemade rootbeer and fresh buns and plum pudding. Then Dad had to bring Uncle Willy home.
Uncle hates priests since the time one tried to do something wicked to him. And sure enough Uncle had a mickey. He and dad were talking loud and singing by the time the priest came. What are we going to do, we asked Mum.
We went to the bedroom where they were singing loud and sharing a bottle. “Quick, lock them in,” said Dorothy. I grabbed the inside doorknob, unscrewed it, pulled it out and we slammed the door shut. They didn’t even notice. They kept right on with their party.
When Father Jeremy came he had a nice dinner and chatted with my mum and sisters. Every once in a while we could hear a shout from the room, or a loud laugh, but we all pretended not to hear. Father Jeremy looked at me and winked when we heard a loud cuss.
Then Uncle started banging on the door. “Let me out,” he hollered. “I need to take a leak.” I ran over and told him the door broke and we were looking for the doorknob. It kept him quiet for about one minute. Then Father Jeremy said it was time to go, and he was thanking Mum for dinner. As we all walked past the door we could see the end of a pair of scissors poking through the doorknob hole, going chook, chook, chook. They got it open just as Father Jeremy climbed into his car. Uncle Willy made a beeline for the outhouse. My dad came out and watched Father Jeremy drive away. “Jesus was poor,” he said. “They drive fancy new cars.” Dorothy got mad and asked what were they supposed to do. Walk?
Later we were wondering about Dad’s chances of making it to heaven. Dorothy says everybody sins. The thing is to get to confession for a blessing from a priest. But once when I walked by the barn I heard Dad crying and saying sorry to God when he didn’t know anyone was around.