Sometimes I like to dream that one day when Amanda and I have a child and he/she ask eventually asks us those particular questions that all children ask such as; “Where do babies come from?”, “Why is the sky blue?”, “Who is God?”, “Where is heaven?” and of course, “Who let the dogs out?”, I like to think that I could maybe at least answer the religion questions by using the fine city of Chicago as our guide to religion.

Well, to be more specific, using the east-west mile long strip of road home to over 6 billion ethnic people [citation needed] called Devon Ave.

I can picture this day clearly in my mind when little Poppin’ Fresh Farrar, (or P-Fre$h for short- a name given to our future child  by Laura and Katy), tugs on my smoking jacket while I’m out enjoying my pipe one fine summer evening in the backyard.

P-Fresh wanders over to me and looks up at me with big, curious eyes and asks in his/her adorable Belgian accent (don’t ask) “Papa, who is God?’

I look reflectively up at the early evening sky, stroke my long ZZ-Top style beard and  say, “Let’s go for a walk my child.”

Do babies like bee beards? I'm gonna say...maybe.

We would then walk up Kedzie  to Devon Avenue hand-in-hand because one thing you learn quickly in Chicago is that one does not want to drive on Devon Ave due to congestion and uh, unfamiliar driving techniques that are apparently commonly used in other countries.

“Where are we going Papa?” P-Fresh asks.

“To answer your question. To learn about God,” I reply with a toothless grin.

“Is it far Papa? I am tired,” (after walking for 1/2 a block.)

“Not much further. Here I will carry you for a bit.”

I hoist P-Fresh up so he/she sits onto my shoulders and let’s out a squeal of delight when I do so.

“Wheee! I am so tall.”

“Yes, little one. Now we are giants!” I laugh and carry my child majestically on my shoulders down the street.

MasterBlaster run Chicago town

As we leisurely walk down Devon Ave., I tell Poppin’ Fresh that this is a good place to learn about God.

“But why?” he/she asks with disgustingly cute, child-like wonder.

“Because as we go down every block, you will find that all these different races and groups of people have a different idea about who God is.”

“Oh. Who’s right?” P-Fresh inquires.

“Well my wee one, that’s were it gets tough to answer. There is no right answer because no one knows for sure. It’s all about personal choice and what you want to believe in.”

"Believe in me or no Cabbage Patch Kids"

We would observe all the Catholics, Muslims,Hindus, Buddhists and Jewish people walking around eating ice cream, praying, buying batteries and things and i would mention to her that also some people believe in God and not in a particular religion at all. They don’t go to Church or a Mosque or anything like that to worship and pray in.   And some people don’t believe in a God at all.

I would watch his/ her tiny brain take in all this information and then P-Fre$h would have a moment of clarity and realization and probably say something real ridiculous like, “I believe in pancakes!

And i would give my child a big, fat hug and I’d say “Let’s go to Pancake Church!”

Hallelujah!

THE END?

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