I OVERHEARD fellow park visitors speculate about the hundreds of identical “No Parking” signs and barriers lining the streets surrounding a park I frequent. The visitors figgered, see, that there were rules the city oughtta follow, see, and since the city didn’t follow ’em, see, they figgered residents put up the signs to dissuade the unhoused from camping. So they figgered it was a bluff, see, so they figgered it was ok to park there.

Yep, they figgered, that makes sense. Yep, that must be it.

Meanwhile, I did something radical. I pulled out my phone and googled. The city is about to commence improvements on the streets in question.

No wonder nonsense persists. We carry around pocket–size computers with instant access to the world’s knowledge, but most of us would rather figger.

OVER LUNCH, an ardent Christian by the name of Ed was extolling divine justice. He assured me that in the hereafter God would not punish those who through no fault of their own had never heard of Jesus. He admitted that this belief placed him at odds with some Christians.

“Well,” I said, “I have heard of him. I’ve read and studied the bible extensively. I have even taught bible classes. And I don’t believe in God, much less Jesus as the messiah. So I guess when I die I’ll be in big trouble.”

“Oh,” he said, grinning, “you’ll be in big trouble.”

Now, to make my point, please permit me an abrupt scene change. It is wintertime, decades ago, in an icy cold, snowy place. I happened to walking outdoors through a blizzard next to a mindless bully, the intellectual inferior of a baked potato. I looked over and saw a two–inch icicle hanging from the end of his nose. I cried out, “We need to get you inside fast! You could get frostbite!” 

I was honestly alarmed. Mind you, there is no describing the depth to which I disliked this fellow. Even so, I didn’t wish upon him a permanently marred face. I was horrified at the thought.

Back to Ed. If he truly believed “big trouble” was in my future, why the grin? Why not tears? Why not clasped hands? Why not desperate pleas for me to see the light for my own good? Why not horror at the thought?

I see two possible explanations (you may have others). (1) He hasn’t truly internalized the concept. That is, he hasn’t taken it to the point of visualizing me sizzling away in everlasting burnings. Or (2) he has a vindictive side and plans to enjoy my suffering.

There are Christians to whom Explanation 2 applies. For Ed, my money is on Explanation 1.

To be fair, I would have found tears, clasped hands, and pleas patently annoying, especially over lunch. But at least it would have been consistent with what he professes. 

So I prefer the grin. Maybe I should shut up and be grateful for small favors.

I WAS 17 YEARS OLD when my dad flew into a rage and gave me 18 hours to move out. I cannot for the life of me remember what triggered it. Suffice it to say that I was a clean–living, law–abiding honor student. Yet it came as no surprise. For well over a year, he had been grousing that he was “sick of being a parent.”

I scraped by. I worked in a department store for $1.80 an hour. Back then, a gallon of milk went for about 90 cents. I roomed with three friends, bought a beat–up car for $200, obtained a scholarship, enrolled in college.

When Christmas rolled around, I stammered an apology about not being able to afford gifts. “Just plan better in the future,” a would–be helpful soul said, dripping affected warmth.

This is a post about how easy it is to blame the less fortunate for being less fortunate.

“But look at you now,” some might add, missing the point. There is no getting through to such.