v2 happy idiots

Notes/random.md

@@ -5,6 +5,13 @@ I added this as a general catch-all. Not that I expect to find nuggets of viable
 I grew up near a strip of state highway, known locally as our "auto mile." It was so named for its most obvious feature: a pair of enormous parking lots, anchored by dealerships for all the major American car brands, running down along either side. Each time you drove through, it would add a click or so to your odomoter. A Local landmark.
 Not so many clicks away, along another 'bout-a-mile-long slice of municipal asphalt, some other major American brands (and even a few European ones) were dealing out Christ (and Mary). There was the Catholic church, the Methodist church, the First Baptist church, the (other) Baptist church, the (other) Catholic church, the Episcopal church, the Catholic convent (Sisters of Jesus and Mary), and Sacred Heart (the other, other Catholic Church.) There was also an American Legion (with Sunday Services), and something I initially mistook for a boxing gym, called Victory Bible. Reviewers online praise it for its "ample parking lot."
 Situated at the literal cross-roads of these two ways was a sprawling outdoor shopping village. So as I saw it, me, not being raised Catholic but Catholic-adjacent, this was the Holy Trinity.
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+* You see, our public school had no playground. Instead, some time after the morning prayer, we were sent out to the back lot to pound dirt. Undeterred by the austerity, the kids still found ways to connect by talking about the churches their families attended, where they were hanging out after Tuesday afternoon Bible study, and how it was impossible for my family not to be Christian; I had just forgotten what kind of Christian we were.
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+Finding myself in a class of kids who knew their denomination like they knew their own name, and not being able to answer, was like discovering I was a special one, and I don't mean gifted. And from then on, I started to notice my separation. I had definitely been insulated from religion up to that point. As a family, we never attended church. Religion was rarely discussed at home, and when it came up was met with dismissiveness or disdain. I had a Catholic nanny growing up, but my parents had instructed her to leave God at home. 
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+Consequently, as a five or six-year old, my personal relationship with God was brokered exclusively by two of his latter-day prophets: Santa Claus, and the Easter Bunny. Over the holidays, when Santa (or the Bunny) would appear at the mall, in a furry, polyester suit, my parents would truck us out there to go sit on his lap for a photo-op.
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 * At first I thought the choice was delusional and happy or grounded and miserable. But then I realized that everyone is delusional and we are just choosing happiness or misery.
 
 Let me explain what I mean: when I firmly believe in my inadequacy, but am simultaneously fueled by that bitterness, while somehow comforted by the idea that I'm less misguided than the happy idiots, so self-assured and blissed-out in their plainly misplaced faith.