Posted by: John | July 26, 2012

Get Right With God

“You’ve got to get right with God!” The preacher shouted while my family sat on the folding chairs at the front of the congregation.  At eight years old, I was my Daddy’s little man that Sunday night.  I even tried to sit like my Daddy, my arms folded over my chest.

I remember whenever Momma and Daddy would fight he would always tell Momma, “You’ve got to get right with God.”  Seemed like they were always fighting ’bout somethin’.

I married Brenda after high school.  I was doin’ construction work.  When my little girl, Josie, was born she had the prettiest blue eyes I’d ever seen.  Then when that red-neck, Billy Joe Walker, knocked her up and she left home, I told her, “You’ve got to get right with God.”  Brenda divorced me right after that.  Never heard from either one of ’em again.

Now all I do is sit around all day in this damn diaper watchin’ television.  Last week a woman come by with some papers for me to sign.  If I remember right, she had real pretty blue eyes.

I just wish they’d all leave me alone so I can get right with God.

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