Ludic Dreams

Well, at least for me.

My entire life I had been fed Catholic Rhetoric. Nothing too crazy- nowhere near the fundamentalists. Luckily, I was raised in a household that called for free thought, and at a young age I was taught to think for myself. I know it sounds like an oxymoron, but it was a very good way to learn, despite that it has ultimately led me away from traditional Christendom and into the realm of Deism.

“But wait,” A friend said, “Isnt’t Deism Atheism without the chutzpah?”

I paused, waiting, nay, praying, that he elaborate.

“It’s like you utilize all the logic of atheism, but still decide to believe in the unnecesary creator.” Without getting into the huge philosophical argument, I looked at him.

“I know there is a God.”

“What?”

“Not only am I sure there is a God, I know that she has one huge fucking sense of humor.”

“How?”

I smiled.

“Well, my old friend, let me tell you.”

The story begins in my Eight grade. I was about 13, and a member of John Wallace Middle school in Newington Connecticut. We had been learning about the second World War, a topic I enjoyed learning about, when he had some pacific island Veterans come to speak with us as a surprise. I talked the entire time to my friends, asking questions to the veterans, and let me tell you- they where a class act. They got emotional, they told of heroic, and less heroic moments of the war in the Pacific. They shared horrors, they shared triumphs. They sang for us- it was great. As we began to leave – two whole hours longer than we where supposed to be there – I was pulled aside by a teacher.

“They are joining us for lunch. We are inviting some of the students to eat with them, would you like to do that?”

I smiled in agreement.

As I shared moments with these people, I found a deeper understanding of the war, them sharing personal information that many people do not hear from their family. The entire faculty liked them so much that they where again asked to talk with us- but not in the large auditorium, because we had not reserved the room. Instead, they followed us around to our wing of classes. Our school was basically a large circle, and in order to get to the wing, we needed to pass many of the others.

It was then that I heard a voice.

No, not voice. Voices.

Chanting.

My nearby teacher turned to me and his eyes went wide, his body arching towards the Veterans, leading the pact of students around our halls.

The chanting grew louder.

While his mouth did not speak, his eyes spoke volumes.

The seventh grade was learning about foreign cultures, as I did when I was in the grade. However, a new teacher took things to a new level – she called it immersion. Around the curvature of the hallway, there came an entire class of students chanting in Japanese, two flagbearers holding the Japanese flag, and every student wearing Japanese armbands and headbands.

I kid you not- the room got intensely quiet, even the air conditioning shut off.

It was in that brief moment in time, the tension so strong that I saw teachers wince, where my eyes cast an upwards glance, a small tear formed in my eye, my mouth creating crude smile.

“He Is real!”

- A F K