Father Max
Father Max just moved in—a very festive occasion. I met father Max in the driveway yesterday. He was puzzling over the garage door remote control. The single thumb size button eluded him. As I approached to assist him, Father Max dropped the remote. It hit the concrete hard and shattered into three pieces: nine-volt battery, mother-board with aforementioned glaringly obvious button, and the front cover—containing a thumb-sized hole where the button slips into. Snap it closed. All better.
I walked faster. By the time I got to his side, Father Max was fumbling with the three pieces. The giant button and its hole were not lined up, so he was trying to smash them back together. He kept smashing and wrinkling his brow. I helped him. Then I showed him how to use the remote control. He was very grateful. So he blessed me.
Tags: Atheism, Buddhism, Catholic Church, Literature, Philosophy, Writer, Writing
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