My parents were by far the coolest.
I remember getting diffed. I had undergone a severe and hasty restructuring of my life in order to avoid expulsion (trying to demonstrate repentance) and they bounced me anyway. I came home in a kind of daze. My mom burst into tears when I told her. Then she hugged me and said, "You are still a good person." My dad was the strong silent type.
And all through the next year, I lived at home, and they took care of me as I drifted farther and farther out. It was stupid really. The dubs didn't have to diff me. I would have done anything to stay, but they pushed me out, I think, as a power trip, because I was a little different.
OH well, screw 'em. My parents still loved me, and I return the favor. I am grateful like a dog to them for showing me the love I needed when I needed it most. If they need anything all they have to do is ask, and I'm there mowing the lawn or teaching my sister to drive or whatever they need.
anyway, I forget... oh yeah... my mom and dad never talk about it much, but my dad was the person to show me from Zechariah where it says that 607 BCE is a made-up number. My dad is really smart, but I wonder why he stays with them. He loves the people, not the organization.
I guess I initiate the conversations about the religion. My mom just says, "If they aren't the truth, noone else even tries."
I feel sorry for them. they've spent their lives chasing a dream - and I'm not going to rip it away from them. Let them grow old and die in peace, is my feelings on the subject. If they wanted out, they could get out, but maybe they are happy in the coccoon. their friends are there, their lives are there, let them sleepwalk their remaining years if they want. We all chase different illusions, religion is just one of them.
CZAR
