“God crying, huh? I always knew your teacher was a smart lady. She’s absolutely right.”
I was confused. “Why is God so sad?”
Dad’s face lit up in exaggerated shock and disbelief. He gasped.
“Sad? Who said anything about being sad? He’s crying because He’s making tomato sauce for a big Italian dinner. He’s chopping onions!”
I smiled. That explanation was much nicer. But I knew better than to think he was finished.
“That’s only when its drizzling, though. Did your teacher tell you about thunderstorms.”
I gigged and shook my head no.
“She didn’t? So you don’t know anything about the angel baseball teams?”
“Nooo!”
Dad stood up to finish his story while I sat Indian style in our brown leather recliner, which was far too big for my tiny kindergarten legs to touch the ground.
“Imagine this. It’s the bottom of the ninth inning in a tie game. Willie Mays steps up to the plate, and Christy Mathewson takes the sign.” Dad went threw a pitching motion, and continued. “He winds up and fires his signature screwball, and CRACK!”
He clapped his hands together loudly and flew his hand through the air to show the projectile of the baseball. The angel had just hit a game winning home run.
“There it goes! And the crowd goes wild. They’re roaring and jumping up and down. The ballpark is shaking. If you heard it, you’d swear it was –“
“Thunder!” I excitedly interrupted.
“Exactly! And everyone who is there knows they’re seeing something special. The flash bulbs from cameras are going off in every direction in the dark night sky.”
“Lightning!” I was catching on. “But what about the rain? Why are they crying now?”
“Nobody is crying,” Dad reassured me. “Every victory needs a celebration. The winning team has to pop champagne in the clubhouse and spray it on the game’s hero. And that’s why it rains.”
Just as he finished his story, we heard thunder outside. A storm was coming. Dad laughed and swung an imaginary baseball bat and started to head out of the room.
“Wait, Dad?” I called out. “How do you know they have Italian food and baseball in heaven?”
He smiled and kissed me on the forehead.
“Because it wouldn’t be heaven without them.”
I'm a senior Advertising major at Marist College located in Poughkeepsie, NY. I very much enjoy black pens, whiskey, the Oxford Comma, and short author bios that include an eclectic list of personal interests. I like writing simple stories about strange characters because I think that strangeness is what makes people real. Want to talk? I'd love to! Send me an email at chrisraia@gmail.com.
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