Last week, I decided to participate in one of the three baths I take per year. It was half out of boredom and half out of a need to get my body temperature up after 36 straight hours of sidewalk shoveling.
I got it good and hot and began observing the ravages of time on my body when heard the removing of superhero PJs just outside the door. Seconds later, Luca presented himself at tub side.
“Come on in, pal. But watch out, it’s real hot. Just how dad likes it.”
Luca put a toe in and shrieked, “It’s too hot!”
“What did I just tell…” I began, but what’s the point?
I offered to put some cold water in the tub, but Luca suggested he just sit on my stomach until he got used to it.
“Fine by me. But what’s my number one rule of the tub?”
“That’s right. No peeing.”
Luca sat on Mount Hairy and inspected my belly button. He said, “Dad. I had a nightmare last night.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Homie. What was it about?”
I expected some kind of Rescue Bot loss scenario or invasion of broccoli. But what I got was, “It was the time when everyone died and everyone went to see God.”
“Yeah, everyone went to see God because they died. You. Mommy. Eli…”
The tub suddenly got ice cold. I said, “What exactly happened? Were there four horsemen? Tell me there weren’t four horsemen. Is it soon? Do we need to go to church?”
He tried to change the subject, but I wouldn’t let it go. “But you didn’t go to God? Was it some kind of ‘Left Behind’ thing?”
“Well, I can’t remember if Mommy or Eli died. But you definitely died. Your face was bloody.”
Great. That’s worse. I chalked it up to the recent sadness in the family. Or that I’m fairly sure he secretly watches me play “Call of Duty” on Xbox when I think he’s asleep.
I rubbed his back and told him he didn’t have to worry. No one was going to see God anytime soon. And then suggested we go get hamburgers for lunch. But if he had any more dreams about plagues or frogs falling from the sky he should probably let me know.