Quotes by Critics - Page 53

That Reagan shaped mechanical gadget in the metal box that made you jump like a little sissy boy, Joe, that is the heart and soul of what the flag’n’Jebus crowd is scared of so bad they can’t even think about him existing.” He looked at Joe, waiting for an aha! that didn’t come. “That whole wing of modern conservatism lives for, on, about, with, in, and by the idea that everything is happening via supernatural powers and that the devil is powerful and has to be fought. Modern science totally spoils that because it gives people so much power but not from supernatural sources. No God in the instruments, you know?“So with modern tech we can make Ronald Reagan appear to come back from the grave, but to do it with modern tech leaves no need for spirits or sacred words or miracles or any other flavor of magic. Which only re emphasizes what they’re most afraid of: living in a world where nobody paints the sky blue every morning, or leaves quarters for teeth, or made platypi as a joke, or decided to sculpt the Grand Canyon, or took granny to heaven to make chocolate chip cookies for the angels. Nobody, nobody, nobody. So since their theology won’t let me bring in a Robo Jesus to call forth Robo Reagan, like sort of a Robo Lazarus, and they really want this, like so many people do…well, it can’t come from nobody, it has to come from somebody, and the somebody can’t be God.“Well, if the devil is anything, he’s somebody.”Joe was still sputtering. “But it…I mean, they’re going to think it’s coming out of Hell! Literal capital H real place Hell!”“Well, exactly. Think about how much that proves. If there’s a Hell and a Devil, there’s also a Heaven and a God. Once they have their Reagan back all they have to do is pray over him a little, drive the devil out, accept the blessing of a restored Reagan on behalf of God, and they’re good to go. God forgives crazier shit than that all the time.
I thumped her on the back, picked her up and dropped her on top of her dungarees. “Put them pants on,” I said, “and be a man.” She did, but she cried quietly until I shook her and said gently, “Stop it now. I didn’t carry on like that when I was a little girl.” I got into my clothes and dumped her into the bow of the canoe and shoved off.All the way back to the cabin I forced her to play one of our pet games. I would say something—anything—and she would try to say something that rhymed with it. Then it would be her turn. She had an extraordinary rhythmic sense, and an excellent ear.I started off with “We’ll go home and eat our dinners.”“An’ Lord have mercy on us sinners,” she cried. Then, “Let’s see you find a rhyme for ‘month’!”“I bet I’ll do it … jutht thith onthe,” I replied. “I guess I did it then, by cracky.”“Course you did, but then you’re wacky. Top that, mister funny-lookin’!”I pretended I couldn’t, mainly because I couldn’t, and she soundly kicked my shin as a penance. By the time we reached the cabin she was her usual self, and I found myself envying the resilience of youth. And she earned my undying respect by saying nothing to Anjy about the afternoon’s events, even when Anjy looked us over and said, “Just look at you two filthy kids! What have you been doing—swimming in the bayou?”“Daddy splashed me,” said Patty promptly.“And you had to splash him back. Why did he splash you?”“ ’Cause I spit mud through my teeth at him to make him mad,” said my outrageous child.“Patty!”“Mea culpa,” I said, hanging my head. “ ’Twas I who spit the mud.”Anjy threw up her hands. “Heaven knows what sort of a woman Patty’s going to grow up to be,” she said, half angrily.“A broad-minded and forgiving one like her lovely mother,” I said quickly.“Nice work, bud,” said Patty.Anjy laughed. “Outnumbered again. Come in and feed the face.