I was at church last Sunday with all the family, which includes, unfortunately, at least when at church, the 5 year old boy. Church, in case you missed it, is not well designed for the average 5 year old boy, much less for the Tasmanian Tsunami I call son.
Church is normally devoid of explosions, dinosaurs, machine gun fire, bodily function jokes, and Bakugans; all of which are an essential ingredient for the 5 year old male attention span.
I think little boys should be stamped, like a gallon of milk, with an expiration time on the lapel of their shirt, or perhaps on the heel of their foot considering half the time they do not have any clothes on. I'd say stamp my little boy with 11:15 a.m. for church, after which any semblance of good behavior expires and like milk after the expiration, it all goes sour. At 11:16 the ushers could simply move throughout the church and remove all the 5 year old boys from the shelf. It would be wise to take most of the 2, 3, and 4 year olds also. To tell the truth, they could probably take one or two adults as well.
We sit in the back of the church where most other parents with young children sit. It's as if each of the parents believes that no one will notice when their child turns over the church pew because after all, we are way in the back. The little boy started church by laying on his back on the floor and sticking both feet straight in the air doing his best imitation, I suppose, of a dead armadillo.
He then twirled around the center pillar and then wandered over to the piano at the back of the church. I forcefully sat him beside me with threats of being burned at the stake if he moved again, so instead he peppered me with all kinds of questions, including "did dinosaurs ever go to church, daddy?" And, did I think Jesus liked beer. He whispered these great insights at about the level of the average AC/DC concert.
Near the end, I held him in a cross arm lock to restrict movement.
All the while, one of his 5-year-old friends, whose name I will not mention lest it impugn his family's reputation, except to say his father was our soccer coach, appeared to be practicing an Indian war hoop, only louder.
I've got my boy in a police academy approved chock hold, when I look back and see the other kid's dad has him fully gagged. I really wouldn't be particularly surprised if soon water boarding of the little boys began in the back of the church under the picture of Jesus and the lambs.
I know that the Bible says in order to enter the Kingdom of Heaven one must become like the little children. Based on this representation, I can only assume that those who believe Heaven involves harps and quiet evenings floating in the clouds are mistaken. If Heaven is filled with sounds of little children, it probably more closely resembles a monster truck rally.
I suggest the Church begin to pass out "Holy" strait jackets and maybe gags like they used in Silence of the Lambs on Hannibal Lecter. For Easter, they can trim the sleeves in baby boy blue. Until then, please forgive us, we're just rejoicing in the sounds of Heaven.