Buddhist Catholic Contemplative Evangelical General Christian Hindu Jewish Latter-day Saint Muslim New Visions Progressive Christian

Beliefs

Topics

Columnists

Resource Library

Research Tools

Video

Podcasts

Thought Readers

Faith In Media Tracker

Newsletters

Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In Subscription Support

Follow Patheos

Home
Progressive Christian
The Story of My Life

The Story of My Life

Last updated on: May 21, 2009 at 11:36 am by John Shore

The Story of My Life 2009-05-21T11:36:26-08:00 John Shore

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

(In the early 1990’s Eve Ensler [author of The Vagina Monologues*] was editor of a quarterly literary magazine in New York City called* Central Park. For the opening pages of the Spring ’92 issue of Central Park Ms. Ensler chose this story of mine. She wrote me a lovely letter in which she called the story “a perfect, perfectly surreal statement on the American family and all that surrounds it.” The fact that I had no idea what she was talking about dampened my appreciation of her letter not a whit.)

The Story of My Life

Once upon a time there lived a man named Dewey Watkins, and his wife Bipsy. Dewey and Bipsy lived in a pretty pink house on a big broad street in a whole neighborhood of pretty houses. The roof on their home was painted a happy kelly green. Sometimes, especially in lovely weather, their roof would hover just a few inches above their house.

Dewey and Bipsy would be at home, watching television or dusting, and they’d notice a thin strip of blue sky lining the top of their living room.

“Look!” Bipsy would say. “Roof’s up again!”

“I’m so afraid!” Dewey would cry. “Wait. Now I’m bored.” Dewey was a complex fellow. Kind of.

Dewey worked at the Spongee Bread factory. His job was to make sure that each and every loaf that made it into the red and white checkered Spongee Bread bag was suitably soft and pliant. He sat on a stool before a conveyor belt that slowly moved past him a never ending train of Spongee bread loaves. With an expert touch, Dewey would reach out and prod each one. If his little poke mark hadn’t disappeared in about two seconds, well then, that loaf of bread just didn’t have what it took to be a Spongee loaf.

“Too bad,” Dewey would say, tossing the loaf over his shoulder.

When Dewey came home after work, there was nothing he enjoyed better than to have his humongous black dog Slicko gnaw his toes. As soon as Slicko heard that door latch give, he would stop whatever he was doing and come lumbering right over, dead anxious to wrap his gums around the toes of Dewey’s wedgies. (And gums it was, for Slicko had no teeth. Something happened to them.)

Every day Dewey would stand just inside the doorway, holding his lunch pail, while ol’ Slicko gummed the tips of his shoes.

“Hi, honey!” he’d say, waving to Bipsy. “I’m home!”

One night, after a heart-warming dinner of cubed avocados and mutton, Bipsy slowly put down her fork, a sparkle dancing in her eye.

“Oh, pipsy-poo,” she said coyly.

“Yes, honey-wunny?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Dewey, his eyes wide with wonder, asked, “What’s a ‘surprise,’ Bipsy?”

“It’s something you could never ever guess, not in a million, trillion years.”

“Oh,” said Dewey dejectedly.

“Guess!” said Bipsy.

“Who’s got the time?” said Dewey.

“Oh, Dewey,” cried Bipsy. “It’s a baby!” She jumped up from the table and walked proudly over to the kitchen pantry. She reached inside, and slowly pulled out a little burbling baby boy, all wrapped up in blue and pink blankets. She held it in her arms so that Dewey could see its little face.

Dewey quickly pushed back his chair a few feet.

“Good lord, that sure is a white one!” he said. After a moment or two he held out his arms. “Toss it to me.”

Bipsy said, “Now, Dewey, you big sinister idiot, this is a baby, not a football. It just came today.” She gazed lovingly at the baby. “Someday, this baby will make us happy.”

“Great!” said Dewey. “When?”

“Someday,” said Bipsy. “I just know it. Why, it’ll wear little red and white striped hats, and eat delicious marshmallows and sweet Hostess Twinkies, and call to us sometimes.”

“It will?” asked Dewey. “Why?”

“Well, like if it got stuck up in a tree. Or maybe it will try to swim, but then sink like a rock. When our baby is in trouble, who do you think it will call to, if not to us?”

“Nobody,” said Dewey earnestly.

“That’s right. Nobody. Just to us. And if this baby ever needs us, why, we’ll just come a’ runnin’, because that’s what babies are for. And that what we’re for now, Dewey: To live and breathe and spend every moment of our lives now just trying to be of service to this little critter.”

Dewey swallowed a bit of avocado. “Can I still go to work?” he asked.

“Yes. And I will, too, whenever I want to. But at first I won’t want to. I’ll just want to stay with this baby, and cuddle it all the time, and tickle it, and clean out its ears with a wet cloth. Oh, won’t it be wonderful, Dewey? Won’t we just be the most wonderful little family ever assembled under one roof?”

“We sure will!” exclaimed Dewey. He held out his arms again. “C’mon, Bipsy. Lemme hold it.” Bipsy gently handed the baby to Dewey, who cradled it lovingly in his arms.

“Gee,” said Dewey, “It barely looks human.”

“Yes it does,” said Bipsy. “It looks like you.”

They both stared at the baby for a moment, and then Bipsy remembered that she still had some wet clothes in the dryer.

“I’ve got to go do laundry, honey schnookums,” she said. As she disappeared through the kitchen door that led into the garage, she wiggled her fingers good-bye.

Dewey looked back at the silent baby. The newest addition to his household was staring intently at the light above the dining room table.

Dewey felt a sudden itch on the top of his left foot. Bending forward to give it a good scratching, he accidentally knocked the side of the baby’s head against the table. Although it was only a light rap, it left a slightly sunken spot on the baby’s head. Dewey watched that spot, expecting it to quickly pop back into shape. The impression stayed just where it was, however.

“Too bad,” said Dewey, tossing the baby over his shoulder.

Personal

autobiographical fiction

Fiction

short story

story

Previous Post

May 20, 2009

Oh, No! I'm Boring!

Next Post

May 22, 2009 The Cooking Show in My Head

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Christian Issues Christian Spirituality Dear John En Espanol Everywhere She's Not Humor Look See Pastor Bob's Corner Personal Portuguese Relationships Russian Short-short story Smith Family Chronicles Uncategorized

Select a Month March 2024 August 2022 August 2020 July 2020 June 2020 February 2020 December 2019 June 2019 December 2018 May 2018 May 2017 January 2017 December 2015 November 2015 October 2015 September 2015 August 2015 July 2015 June 2015 May 2015 April 2015 January 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 May 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 January 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 December 2011 November 2011 October 2011 September 2011 August 2011 July 2011 June 2011 May 2011 April 2011 March 2011 February 2011 January 2011 December 2010 November 2010 October 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010 June 2010 May 2010 April 2010 March 2010 February 2010 January 2010 December 2009 November 2009 October 2009 September 2009 August 2009 July 2009 June 2009 May 2009 April 2009 March 2009 February 2009 January 2009 December 2008 November 2008 October 2008 September 2008 August 2008 July 2008 June 2008 May 2008 April 2008 March 2008 February 2008 January 2008 December 2007 November 2007 October 2007 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

What does the name "Jesus" mean?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Prince of peace Shepherd God is love The Lord saves

Books by This Author Books by John Shore

See All Titles »