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Growing up and becoming less innocent is usually viewed as a bad thing. Adults constantly whine and moan about how much they wished they could go back to their younger days. Days in which they spent frolicking, and being carefree - not a worry in the world. This, of course, did not apply to me. My upbringing was unsatisfactory to say the least. Do you remember me? I’m Orel. I’m a dedicated protestant, and artistic hobbyist. But I’m not a child anymore. I just figured I should tell you how I’ve been.
Now, where do I begin? Maybe I should start with a message to my parents – my family. Or maybe I should just tell you what I’ve been up to? No – I’ve got something better. Let’s start with my bunny.
Beth (short for Bethlehem, of course) was originally a gift for my young daughter. She always showed such a love for God’s creations.
“Look, Dad, she eats grass!” She would exclaim. And, unlike some people, I resisted the urge to down a bottle and tell her it was God’s carpeting. Instead, I said:
“No, dear, it’s hay.”
Because, quite frankly, I don’t take joy in hurting my children. I don’t take joy in ruining everything around me. I don’t take joy in drinking away the pain. I don’t enjoy using God to justify sins. I don’t use God to harm others. I don’t use God like you did.
My daughter, my little girl, is the apple of my eye. Sometimes I wonder if you would have loved me more if I was a girl. After all, you were stuck with two sissy boys. I pity you so much. I could never imagine the pain you suffered with boys. Except, well, I have a son as well. Just as God wanted. And, let me tell you, I love him no less. I do not use violence to teach my kids a lesson, and never will. I teach my kids that no violence is ever necessary. I teach my kids so much in hopes that they will never raise their kids like you raised me.
Sometimes I sit and think about your upbringing. Your sad, pathetic upbringing. Who hurt you? Actually, I don’t want to know. After all, there really is no excuse when your spawn is doing a better job raising children than you. You could have been better than your father. You could have done better. But you chose not to, and look at you now. You have no son.
All of this thinking was sparked by Beth. That was when I realized that she was not just my daughter’s rabbit, but mine as well.
You’re probably shocked to hear that I have children. I haven’t spoken to you since I left. As I mentioned, I have a daughter, son, and wonderful wife too. We live out on some nice farmland. But let’s not get into that quite yet. I have some more to say.
I still have a scar from where you shot me. I collect flannel shirts in an attempt to clone the one that was ruined. I take my children to petting zoo’s and aquariums. You know what that is? Trauma and guilt. You hurt me. But you’ll never admit that, and I’ve sadly had to accept that.
I’ve tried so hard to move on. I’ve tried to return to being myself. I’m going to change the subject now.
I’m a pastor. I’m sure you aren’t shocked. No one is. I still make animations of all kinds in my free time, but I knew better than to attempt to find a job in the field. So, instead, I returned to my true calling. My best quality has always been worshiping God, after all. This town isn’t the biggest in protestant teachings, but I like it that way. I know you’re wondering why I left Moralton. Being shunned by my family and friends for all eternity was hard, but man it was worth it.
I decided to leave while sitting in Steph’s shop. She and I had just gotten into an argument about Moralton and its people. Everyone is aware that Stephanie isn’t the most… acceptable in Moralton. I knew it was only a matter of time before she left. But when she told me that she was going to leave – that she was already packed - , I wasn’t having it. She told me of all the times that the townspeople wronged her, and all the horrible things she bore witness to in this town. Drugs, hookers, adultery… And, being a bit older, it was easier for me to visualize all the things that I had seen; all that I had been through. This town was as bad as towns can get. There’s only so much a person can take. Steph had reached her limit, and if I was being honest with myself, I had reached mine too. I was just in denial.
So we left. We originally lived in a shitty apartment together while we both searched for new work. Over that time, I was just reminded how much a person could potentially love me, and how little you did. She was more of a parent to me than you ever were.
Anyway, we both got our own places and jobs and we kept in touch. Everything was good. Around this time, she doubled the number of piercings she had, and found- well- a partner. She’s gay, and I'm okay with that. Yeah, you heard me. I’m completely accepting of her. Yes, it goes against the preaching of my religion. But unlike you bigots, I actually respect all of God’s creations. I respect other religions, and lifestyles, and people. I wish that you understood, but it’s okay that you don’t. God will forgive you. I will forgive you.
I’ll never hear an apology from you. I’ll never hear you tell me you love me. Even as you lay on your deathbed I will not be at your side. Not because of our feelings towards one another- but because of the people of Moralton.
However, I will personally make sure that you never meet my children. I will make sure that you never put an inkling of your negativity into them. Stephan and Mary will never know you.
Now, as you lay dying of liver failure, I want to tell you that my wife is once again pregnant. It’s a boy, and we’re naming him Clay. I hope that he will lead a better life than you, and that he will be able to take away the negativity from your name. I doubt you’ll even get this, but I have one last thing to tell you:
I don’t hate you. I hate none of God’s creations.
God rest your soul, Father.
Orel Puppington