Don’t kids say the funniest things? (To be said in Tony Blackburn voice for ultimate effect).
My daughter last night, for example. Lying in bed, exchanging our ritual Jerry Springer-style ‘final thoughts’ before shut-eye.
Her: “Daddy didn’t die in Heaven.”
Me: “Mmmm? What do you mean?”
Her: “He died in Grandma’s bed.”
Her: “Where is Heaven?”
My atheist bile began its stealthy rise. “Heaven…well…it’s not real, sweetheart.”
“Father Michael says Cheesus died in Heaven.” Pauses. No response from Mother. Sings: “I am the Lawn of the dance says He….”
It brought to mind the old play-on-words M used to sing about a town in our native North-East: ‘Ooo Hebburn is a place on earth!’
I tossed from side to side for a good while, contemplating religion. I concluded that maybe it would just be easier if I got one.
My daughter attends a faith school (Church of England I think, although not entirely certain.) It was the nearest one and to be honest, when I enrolled her I was in sudden-death induced catatonia. It could have been orthodox Jewish and I would have signed her up. But she comes home with all this gubbins and I don’t know how to deal with it. At Easter time, she was distraught because Cheesus was resurrected from the dead yet daddy wasn’t. But why wasn’t He?
“Because Cheesus is…a fairy?” I proffered.
It didn’t wash. A man in a dress had come into school and suggested that Cheesus was a real, live human being who had come back from the dead. The man was adamant about this point. He completely confused my daughter. And me.
Maybe it is just easier to believe that M has gone to Heaven. To an, ehem, ‘better place’, because actually the prospect of anything else is too much to cope with. In a sense, it’s too difficult to explain.
Yeah, at 10pm on a weary Friday night, that suits me actually.
He’s in Heaven, sweetheart. With Cheesus and the fucking Wombles.