patron saint

Originally uploaded by kristalynn.

i only just learned last week that godparents are actually supposed give their godchildren gifts and such. possibly acknowledge birthdays. perhaps recognize that they’re alive - considering that, given the unfortunate event of the untimely death of both parents, the child will come and join the family as one of their own.

my parents bestowed upon me my mother’s best friend and her unimpressive husband as my godparents. they lived halfway across the country, but i still protested when forced to visit.

"you have to come and you have to like them because they will take you if dad and i die."

i felt, however, that norma et al. had enough kids. she and her husband had produced many, many progeny. they had adopted several others as well. which is, as an act, quite honorable.

in any case, they were not very charming or kind children. the older, teenage-like ones ran amuck. they drove irocs and parked them on the lawn. many girlfriends were always over. the younger bevy were always kind of soiled, somewhat forgotten.


on our last visit to norma's, a little over 20 years ago, we were unexpectedly permitted to enter the pantry and select a small, individual bottle of soda. this was a huge treat for my sister and me, as we were generally deprived of anything that had sugar. but this was not the case with the norma family. they had cases and cases of these stubby bottles from the “pop shoppe”, with flavors like black cherry, cherry, and lime ricky.

i chose cream soda, because not only was it was my absolute favorite, this one was clear, like 7-up. i had only seen pink cream soda before.

i looked up at my mom. "can i really have this?"

she nodded. but it seemed like she was only permitting it because she felt bad about the horrible time she was making us have.

we all sat down to dinner. i'm sure it consisted of something instant.

the norma husband lumbered in from outside and wandered into the panty to pick out his own unique bottle of soda. this was apparently routine suppertime practice.

he emerged from the panty enraged. and he proceeded to yell.

"which one of you rotten kids took my cream soda!!?" he was infuriated. "you KNOW you're not allowed drink MY CREAM SODA!! THOSE CREAM SODAS ARE MINE! AND THEY ARE FOR ME!"

we sat frozen, but i got side glances from all offspring at the table. they knew i was the culprit. i was terrified. i had never before been subject to such rage.

"there was ONE cream soda left and i was SAVING IT. WHO TOOK IT? WHO!?"

it was as though he hadn't even realized there were three extra people sitting at this table - guests in fact. guests who had been offered his cream soda.

one of his teenage sons accused him of drinking it the previous night, implying that he was too stupid to be able to keep count. i couldn't tell if he was trying to cover for me or taking that opportunity to disrespect his father.

"no! i know there was ONE LEFT. i was SAVING IT!! i guess i’ll have to have this then. he had grabbed an orange soda and slammed it on the table. he wolfed down his dinner.

once people started to stir, i drank the cream soda. i garnered no pleasure. i only drank it to hide the evidence.

there was never any returning to the house of norma, either as a guest or to join their brethren.


i think most of my godsiblings have moved out of the house, and the norma husband bought my grandmother’s 1972 camaro fastback and paid her about half of what it was worth.