Editor's Note: Shea Serrano is an award-winning music writer and goofball whose recent exploits include Bun B's Rapper Coloring and Activity Book. In his new column, he writes about his life and times.
Image at flick/Waiting For The World. Illustration by Shea
Perhaps you do not know this, because you do not follow weather trends of the Southeastern United States, but my native Houston has been getting properly pummeled by Meltankos (Norse God of Ice, obviously). A nasty frost closed all of the city's schools and many of its businesses last Friday. The roads were so treacherous and lethal and unforgiving that, even despite the limited traffic, there were more than 500 accidents.
But the front moved in and out quickly. By Saturday (Friday evening, to be more accurate), it was safe to move around again. By Sunday, it was downright pleasant. And by Monday, the schools were fully operational. At least they were, until one of my six-year-old sons called God.
Monday evening after school, word began floating around that another blast was heading our way, that it was likely to handicap everything and everyone again. So we waited for an announcement from the district that they were going to close again, fully expecting to have to wait until 5 a.m. the morning of to finally hear, which is how it happened on Friday.
At dinner time, I asked Bay, one of my twin sons, if he wanted to miss school again. He was like, "UM, HELL YEAH I DO, DADDY."
So I said, "You're cool with God, right?"
He said, "Yes I am very cool with God." Since the very first day that Wife took our kids to church, Bay has seemed more instinctively in tune with religion than basically anyone I've ever met.
I said, "OK, good, me too. So why don't you call your homie God tonight when you go to sleep and ask him to push his thumb on Houston and shut it down?" He said, "Sure, Daddy," and he said it like he knew he could. I smiled.
At exactly 9:37 p.m., one hour and 37 minutes after we'd sent the boys off to bed, the phone rang. I picked it up. It was an automated message from the school district letting me know that schools were closed the next day and blah blah blah. I quietly celebrated by doing Ginuwine body rolls in the front room while Wife sat on the couch looking at me. And then there was creepiness.
I heard teeny-tiny footsteps coming down the stairs. This was maybe one minute after I got off the phone (that he couldn't possibly have heard ring because it was on vibrate). It was Bay. "Daddy," he said. "I called God. He said he'll make sure we don't have school." WHAT THE HELL, BRO??? WHAT EVEN???
I can tell by the fact that you are still reading this that your eyes did not explode out of your skull, which means you're not as blown away by this as you should be. But, I mean, how do you explain it? It was a true-life miracle.
Bay asked if, since there was no school, they could come back downstairs and stay up for a little bit and watch TV, and I said yes because you're crazy if you think I'm going to pickle God's favorite six-year-old. We ended up watching videos on YouTube because we always end up watching videos on YouTube. Here's what they picked:
The boys have liked a lot of songs, but this is maybe the best that they've ever chosen (second place: when they were three and ended up falling for SPM's "Screens Falling," mostly because they thought the chorus was "cheeeeeeeeeese falllllllling from the sky").
Continue to page two for more.
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