inspired by my work here on earth, they’d decided it was time to put asidetheir differences and help make one boy’s sexual fantasy come true. Praise Jesusammad!!!
I don’t think Diane even understood why or how, but it was clear that she wanted me, that some emotion was boiling up inside of her. Perhaps the Islam thing made me seem dangerous, forbidden, like one of those biker dudes from back in the day. I was
infidel-icious
and finally in the driver’s seat. Armed with the knowledge that I could probably get Diane to go to second base, I went back to her apartment one Sunday to make my dreams come true.
Diane went into her bedroom and I stood outside it. I listened as she rhapsodized about that week’s Bible study and how interesting my reading of the Koran had been. That she had no idea that Jesus was considered by Muslims to have traveled during his twenties to what is modern-day Iraq. I followed her, nodding and agreeing, and then I did something I’d never done before: I entered her bedroom without being invited. Standing there in the early evening light, Diane looked especially beautiful, her hair hanging loose. Leaning against her dressing table she masked her surprise at seeing me in her room with an overly casual demeanor. We both stood there silently smiling at each other. I froze. My hands were clenched and sweaty in my pockets just as they had been many years before with Katie in the bathroom.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing . . . just, you know,” I mumbled.
We stood there for a moment longer, staring at each other, waiting.
“Hey, do you want to see
Dirty Dancing
?” she said suddenly. “I love Patrick Swayze.”
She quickly brushed by me, back into the living room.
As she did, I glanced down at her bed and saw peeking out from under her pillow the most recent issue of
International Male
. Staring at me from the front cover was a photograph of a muscle-bound tanned model in a mesh thong with a sculpted chest, perfect biceps, a stubbled chiseled jaw line, deep brown eyes, and long flowing shoulder length blond hair. Behind him the sunset formed a halo around his head as he smiled, and in perfect Spanish said, “Hola mi amigo, me llamo Jesus, y ella siempre sera mio.” 4
I nodded my head as I agreed to get the popcorn.
4 . Hello my friend, my name is Jesus, and she will always be mine.
THE CHILI PEPPER
A T THE AGE OF SIXTY , my father was fired from his part-time job as a Verizon customer service representative for using profanity. Even though she had heard him swear before, my mother was outraged and couldn’t believe he would use such language at any time for any reason in a professional setting.
“Why does your father have to use such bad words?” she remarked while sitting in her armchair reading her copy of the Koran, as she did most afternoons. “The rest of the people who work there are young enough to be his grandchildren; what kind of example is that setting?”
But I was secretly proud of him. Not because he swore, but because of the reason he did so.
Let me first say that I am a huge fan of profanity. I know many people consider it to be coarse and uncivil and I would agree with them in most cases, but it can also be one of the most powerful tools we humans have to express something that cannot be expressed in any other way. Profanity is the chili pepper of language. If used by an idiot or a clod, it can overwhelm the discourse so the meaning is lost, but if used by a linguistic master chef, it can insert a piquant passion to the point where even though your ears may burn andyou may want to rinse your mouth out, you cannot say it doesn’t sound delicious.
Now, it was not out of character for my father to swear—he has used profanity for as long as I can remember, but only at home with us, his family. He would often mispronounce the swear words, much to the amusement of my sister and myself. He could rattle off quite a tiger-like roar of curses in
I don’t think Diane even understood why or how, but it was clear that she wanted me, that some emotion was boiling up inside of her. Perhaps the Islam thing made me seem dangerous, forbidden, like one of those biker dudes from back in the day. I was
infidel-icious
and finally in the driver’s seat. Armed with the knowledge that I could probably get Diane to go to second base, I went back to her apartment one Sunday to make my dreams come true.
Diane went into her bedroom and I stood outside it. I listened as she rhapsodized about that week’s Bible study and how interesting my reading of the Koran had been. That she had no idea that Jesus was considered by Muslims to have traveled during his twenties to what is modern-day Iraq. I followed her, nodding and agreeing, and then I did something I’d never done before: I entered her bedroom without being invited. Standing there in the early evening light, Diane looked especially beautiful, her hair hanging loose. Leaning against her dressing table she masked her surprise at seeing me in her room with an overly casual demeanor. We both stood there silently smiling at each other. I froze. My hands were clenched and sweaty in my pockets just as they had been many years before with Katie in the bathroom.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing . . . just, you know,” I mumbled.
We stood there for a moment longer, staring at each other, waiting.
“Hey, do you want to see
Dirty Dancing
?” she said suddenly. “I love Patrick Swayze.”
She quickly brushed by me, back into the living room.
As she did, I glanced down at her bed and saw peeking out from under her pillow the most recent issue of
International Male
. Staring at me from the front cover was a photograph of a muscle-bound tanned model in a mesh thong with a sculpted chest, perfect biceps, a stubbled chiseled jaw line, deep brown eyes, and long flowing shoulder length blond hair. Behind him the sunset formed a halo around his head as he smiled, and in perfect Spanish said, “Hola mi amigo, me llamo Jesus, y ella siempre sera mio.” 4
I nodded my head as I agreed to get the popcorn.
4 . Hello my friend, my name is Jesus, and she will always be mine.
THE CHILI PEPPER
A T THE AGE OF SIXTY , my father was fired from his part-time job as a Verizon customer service representative for using profanity. Even though she had heard him swear before, my mother was outraged and couldn’t believe he would use such language at any time for any reason in a professional setting.
“Why does your father have to use such bad words?” she remarked while sitting in her armchair reading her copy of the Koran, as she did most afternoons. “The rest of the people who work there are young enough to be his grandchildren; what kind of example is that setting?”
But I was secretly proud of him. Not because he swore, but because of the reason he did so.
Let me first say that I am a huge fan of profanity. I know many people consider it to be coarse and uncivil and I would agree with them in most cases, but it can also be one of the most powerful tools we humans have to express something that cannot be expressed in any other way. Profanity is the chili pepper of language. If used by an idiot or a clod, it can overwhelm the discourse so the meaning is lost, but if used by a linguistic master chef, it can insert a piquant passion to the point where even though your ears may burn andyou may want to rinse your mouth out, you cannot say it doesn’t sound delicious.
Now, it was not out of character for my father to swear—he has used profanity for as long as I can remember, but only at home with us, his family. He would often mispronounce the swear words, much to the amusement of my sister and myself. He could rattle off quite a tiger-like roar of curses in
Similar Books
