Parenting humor: Ascending into heaven on a ski lift

Ascending into heaven on a ski lift

I never figured on God being into winter sports but I guess I was wrong. (If this column ends abruptly, you'll know I have been struck down by a snowball.)

My wife Katherine was looking at the sky with our four-year-old son Jack the other day.

"Aren't they nice fluffy clouds?" Katherine said.

Jack, who has learnt that Baby Jesus lives up there somewhere, was quick to correct her.
"No, mummy, they're not clouds," he said. "It's snow. That's where Baby Jesus goes ski-ing."

Jack learnt about Baby Jesus at Sunday School.
He has been to the snow three or four times now, the last for a day's elementary ski-ing lesson.

I am not sure what kind of mental picture he has of Baby Jesus up in the sky. He probably imagines him decked out the same way that we dressed him for the snow: beanie, ski trousers, gloves, ski mask, snow boots. Possibly, he might even wear a cross and be accompanied by a Saint Bernard dog rather than a donkey.

No doubt the slopes are heavenly up there, with lots of powdery cover and endless blue skies above.

And it must packed - a sea of bright winter colour, fashion and movement - as all those snow angels jostle for the best runs.

Jack is rather taken at the moment with death, only he calls it going to Baby Jesus in the sky.

I think I made the mistake of saying to him one day: "Don't put that play fork into the power point, Jack, or you'll end up with Baby Jesus in the sky and daddy will end up with a big bill from the electrician."

Since then, I am sure he fears that nearly all forms of bad behaviour will end with someone ending up with Baby Jesus in the sky.

He even went close himself a couple of weeks ago.
I had sent him to his room (it's only fair; he does the same to me when I am naughty), and I went to retrieve him at the given time.
When I walked into the room I hit a cloud of pungent smoke.

"What IS that?" I asked Jack.

"Look, up there daddy," he said, beaming proudly. "Look what I did?"

He had thrown his pyjamas bottoms over the top of a hanging light fitting, and they had smoldered right through.

I was not amused. In fact, I was furious.

"That was a very, very silly thing to do, Jack," I barked at him once I had got rid of the ruined pyjamas and ventilated the room. "You could have burnt the house down, or worse."

Jack was suitably remorseful, I thought, and was quiet for the rest of the day.

It might have been because he realised the gravity of his deed.

Or it might have just been because he did not get to go ski-ing with Baby Jesus.

©August 5, 2000 John Martin. All Rights Reserved

NB: I called this site Dunno because I kept drawing a blank when I had to put a name to it