Scene: Harriet�s kitchen

AJ: Mommy, God is invisible, right?

Harriet: (wondering who�s been talking about God with AJ, since she herself is a heathen) That�s right, we can�t see God. Who�s been talking to you about God. Daddy?

AJ: No.

Harriet: Have you been talking about God at school? (ready to take them to task for pushing religion in school)

AJ: No.

Harriet: How do you know that God�s invisible?

AJ: I don�t know (thinks for a moment). So, God�s kind of like the Statue of Liberty.

Harriet: (suppressing a giggle) How is God like the Statue of Liberty?

AJ: Well, not exactly like the Statue of Liberty, because, 1. He�s not a statue; 2. He�s invisible and 3. He�s not a girl.

Harriet: So how is God like the Statue of Liberty? (wonders if this question has a punch line)

AJ: I don�t know. Why?

* * * * *

Aj seems to be venturing half-heartedly into the metaphysical world. I think this may be due to an increase in public discussion of the divine leading up to Thanksgiving. I�m not sure where I stand on the whole religion issue, so I tend to avoid discussion and I really don�t want to push it on AJ � I think it�s something he should figure out for himself when he�s old enough. But I don�t think it�s the worst thing in the world for people to think about the fact that there might be something out there that�s bigger and more powerful than they are. Bad things happen when people think they�re the biggest and the strongest.

But AJ has picked for his supreme being not God, but a giant green woman standing in New York Harbor. The other day, when I walked into AJ�s classroom to pick him up from school, the children were all standing frozen in their places, waiting to be freed by a touch from a parent. AJ was standing very straight with one arm in the air and the other folded across his waist. �Hey, Mommy! Guess what I am!� �What?� �I�m the Statue of Liberty!� Perhaps I should spend some time in the car tomorrow teaching him the verse of Emma Lazarus. Then again, perhaps we should be writing some verse of our own:

Our Mother,
Who art in New York Harbor,
Hollow be thy frame.
Thy tourists come,
Thy repairs be done
On torch as it is in tablet.
Give us this day your steely head
and your green tresses
On overpriced postcards in the visitor's center. And lead us not into Penn Station, But deliver us from the Circle Line. For thine is the beauty and the beacon and the symbol of freedom for ever and ever.

* * * * *

I need to go and finish packing now. I�ll be offline for a few days while we�re traveling. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. While you're gathering with your own huddled masses (yearning, no doubt, to breath free) may there at least be many pies.

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