Last Christmas I was getting out the stuff for the tree.
I came across some plaster figures of Mary, Joseph, a baby in a manger, a donkey and a cow. Purely for sentimental reasons I set them up around the base of the tree and thought no more about it.
Granddaughter the Younger of course found them. She pointed at the baby in the manger and asked “who’s dat?”. I toyed with a few answers that could have been fun but the kid was only three so I said it was Baby Jesus. I didn’t know what I had let myself in for.
For some reason she took a fascination with this figure, and would carry it around the house talking to it. Eventually of course I packed everything away including Baby Deezus. This discombobulated her somewhat and every time she visited she wanted to know where Baby Deezus had gone to. Picking her up from playschool I would get the inevitable question “are we going to Grandad’s house and is Baby Deezus there?”. Each time I told her that Baby Deezus had fucked off until next Christmas, though I may not have used those exact words.
We looked after her yesterday, along with Grandson the Younger [Daughter was in court again] and she started poking around in a few old boxes at the back of the bedroom. She came across an old crucifix and extracted it proclaiming that she had found another Baby Deezus, and that he hadn’t fucked off until next Christmas after all, though she may not have used those exact words.
I have a policy with my Grandkids that includes disillusionment and confusion. I teach them that they shouldn’t take things at face value and that it’s good to question just about anything. However I haven’t the heart to get into religious debates. I’ll let the schools teach them first and then I’ll let rip once they have left all that indoctrination behind and are old enough to debate properly.
In the meantime, I would like to see some future religion teacher’s face when Granddaughter the Younger insists that Baby Deezus is alive and well and living at the back of Grandad’s downstairs bedroom.