A story about my dad

​I wrote this out for a comment on some else’s post on FB. Figured I’d share it here too. 

Once upon a time — summer 1976ish — there was a knock at our front door. 

Context first! We lived in an old farmhouse in Virginia set back on four acres. Everyone used the kitchen door, near the parking. You had to be ambitious to go to the front door. 

More context: my father was a hippie in 1976. He was sitting around in cutoff jean shorts and no shirt. It must’ve been summer. He had shoulder length hair and a full beard. 

So! My father gets up and answers the knock at the door. It’s a man and his little daughter, dressed in their Sunday best. They want to talk to my father about God.

My father stood up his full 5’8” height, puffed out his hairy chest, and said: “No thanks. I AM GOD!”

The little girl’s eyes got so big! The man said bye, hustled his little girl  away. She probably grew up thinking God is some hairy stoner. 

My dad giggled about that for years.