The introduction of the Golden Boy and the Princess to religiosity was typical of them both: the Princess realized people believe in really weird things a couple of years ago when a friend informed her that she shouldn’t eat pepperoni pizza because? because what? she’s a Moslem? Are we, Mom? What’s that? After fruitlessly dodging the question, I told her we’re not, but lots of Iranians are, so her friend thought we were too. But what are Moslems? They are people who don’t eat pepperoni pizza. I’m not exactly sure why. But, she can eat as much pepperoni pizza as she likes, and nobody should tell her what to eat except her parents. Fortunately, the princess has inherited from those same parents supreme self-absorption and obsession over what is interesting to her, personally, which does not include pepperoni pizza. So the discussion over pizzas and who eats what died an early and happy death.
Yesterday, the Golden Boy asked me with a big smile on his face, as if he was talking about farts or stinky socks, “Did god make us?” With an equally big smile, I answered “No! Who said that nonsense?” Then I quickly guessed, ” ‘Mohammad’? what a farthead!!!” Indeed, gentle reader, “Mohammad” and his nosy, unpleasant mother are both as classic examples of fartheads you would ever wish to encounter, not (just) because of their introduction of goddiness in the playground, but for a variety of other offences: the concentrated way she questions me about the children’s father and when he is coming or going every single time we bump into each other outside school, to the exclusion of everything else, the fact that “Mohammad” pulled down his pants and exposed himself in school last year, the other fact that the Golden Boy complained about him so much that I eventually had to tell teachers to tell him to back off, the kind of conversations I hate, and so on. Gentle reader, you do realize that I am not saying they are fartheads because of their religiosity, oh no, but it has to be admitted that their fartheadedness and religiosity are closely intertwined.
So, the princess corrected “Mohammad”‘s corrosive influence: “Of course not! We’re all made of atoms! Everything is made of atoms!” And that contented the Golden Boy- he did not go on to ask, as text-book theology suggests, “BUT WHO MADE THE ATOMS?”, rather, seemed happy to accept that some things exists without someone specifically and intentionally sitting down and making them.