This is a true story.
My mother came from Italy.
I was the first in the family born in America.
My family is pretty much entirely Catholic.
Not me.
No.
Even though I write about Catholic stuff quite a bit. Never. No.
I am surrounded by them.
My kids are Buddhists. I am not making that up. Both of them. They have official Buddhist beads and certificates, and shit like that.
That proves it!
I have a godson in the Catholic church. I had to get special clearance, a full body probe, and a microscopic chip that produces searing pain implanted in my brain in order for the Catholic church to grant permission for me to be his godfather.
Because I am not one of them.
But there is a document!
I have kind of exiled myself from the past. Since I have four books out, though, people I have been lost to have found me. It is a remarkable thing.
It's not like I have been hiding or anything. You don't really need to hide when you are invisible.
The last time I saw my godson, he and his mother were moving somewhere far away. He was a baby.
I thought about the kid every day. Seriously. If the chip in my head ever went off, it would have been a sign from the Catholic church that I had to assume the responsibility of nurturing the kid's spiritual development.
Good thing he made it without me!
I could have singlehandedly initiated the collapse of one of the world's great religious movements.
Nobody would want that to happen.
His mom found me about a year ago, maybe more than that, because of Facebook.
I talked to the kid yesterday on the phone.
The kid is not so much a kid anymore. He is a fully-grown man.
It was nice to hear him articulate speech, as opposed to gurgling saliva and throwing up steaming baby formula on me.
I have a lot of questions about history for him.
As an exile, I am fascinated by history.
I will let you know.
