God, the Devil and Nikki


i was raised by a father who, for all intents and purposes, questioned everything. not only did he question, he argued. and mind you, to fight is to win, to argue is to win over. whenever he debated, may it have been with a colleague, a family member, a stranger in a crowd who happened to have said something particularly queer to him, he was a thrill to watch. he was so articulate, and he had that je ne sais quoi that made him both handsomely admirable, and boyishly malevolent. whenever his opponent would become flustered and began to falter my father would push more, lead with questions, baiting with sententia. and one of his most vivacious arguments was the one against the idea of God.

my mother ,on the other hand, wasn’t ever one for argument. when she made up her mind about something it mattered not that you agree with her. she need be her only ally. she was raised buddhist but when my grandmother died and her dearest friends refused to attend her funeral because it would be “bad luck” according to their brand of buddhism, my mother renounced religion as a whole. she said she would take what she agreed with, what was good and humane and compassionate about religion and leave the rest for the birds. so, the mother that raised me admires jesus and believes in God, respects Mohammed, and at the base of it all raised me with buddhist teachings.  all in all religion was like a poison in her mind. messing up people’s perfectly good common sense and decency.

i am thankful, beyond words for their perspectives. between the two of them, my traditional southern baptist grandmother, my catholic, rastafarian, jewish, wiccan, muslim and hindu friends and my personal studies i have developed my own distinct, fulfilling, relationship with God. and the devil, in whom i don’t even believe.


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