After Thursday's news about creationism being taught in my daughter's preschool, I have become increasingly curious about what she is actually absorbing from all of this instruction. So, in the course of our usual bathtime banter and play involving letters, colored cup sorting, and other things that she should be learning in school, I decided to inquire.
"Emma, do you talk about Jesus in school?"
Not looking up from her delicate ballet of transferring water from one cup to the next, "Yes."
"And what do you know about Jesus?"
Silence as her concentration peaks while trying to place the last few droplets exactly over the hole in the bottom of her rubber duck in order to watch them disappear within.
"Emma, do you know who Jesus is?"
Totally baffled, I ask, "Sam? Who's Sam?"
Of course. She just said that. Why didn't I get that Sam was Jesus and vice versa.
Vainly trying again to extract bits of information from her sponge-like brain, "Emma. Do you know who Jesus is?"
"He's at Sam's Club mommy."
I think I peed a little here I was laughing so hard. And she jumped all over my response making it into a game chanting, "Jesus is at Sam's Club, Jesus is at Sam's Club."
And I thought, "Boy, I bet Sam Walton must be proud. And what better place for Jesus to reside in this day and age than an unfinished warehouse, owned by one of his most conservative and affluent disciples, filled 3 stories high with paper goods, lawn furniture, dog food, slabs of beef, and frozen dinners, all packaged in bulk vainly attempting to quench the insatiable American appetite to consume. That is EXACTLY where I'd look for Jesus in modern day America."
Needless to say, I'm not quite as worried about the long-lasting effects of her exposure to conservative Christianity at such a tender age, especially after I pressed her further about Jesus' identity and she answered, "You. You're Jesus mommy."
Amen to that sister!
But I'm still shopping around for a new preschool.