Yesterday afternoon, I sat down to write something on this blog. I admit I'm terrible at keeping it up.
This morning, I complained as such to a coworker. He responded, "When I can't think of anything to write, I like to think up some old memories." He then proceeded to tell me a story from when he was a teenager, and after which, I shared my own story:
One cold November night my family was driving through Texas, somewhere in the flat expanses on the west side of the state.
I sat in the front seat next to my father, and my brother and sister were in the back seat. We had just left New Mexico and were on our way back home to Brownwood, Texas.
My father and I were "discussing" religion. Being a staunch Catholic, my father was of the belief that only humans have souls. I, on the other hand, had a taste for something different. The tiring dogma of organized religion left a nasty film in the back of my throat.
The argument centered around the belief of what had souls and what didn't. I argued that animals indeed had souls and he adamantly denied such a thing. At the time, I believed that in order to exist in a physical realm a spiritual counterpart must also exist, and I stubbornly insisted this was correct.
Off in the distance on this icy night, a bridge quickly loomed into sight, but we were too engrossed in our argument to notice the watch for ice sign.
"Actually," I said, obstinately, just like any know-it-all teen might, "Even rocks must have souls."
At this point, my father was furious. Such things were sacrilege, and could lead one straight to Hell. "Rocks..." he said angrily, punctuating each word, "Do... Not... Have... Souls!"
Immediately after "Souls!", our vehicle passed over the bridge and directly onto a patch of ice. The car started sliding sideways. My father over corrected, and we skidded sideways in the other direction. We fishtailed several times before finally crashing gently into the side rails of the bridge.
We were all wide eyed and breathing heavy. My father asked if everyone was alright, checking on each of us individually. When the shock of the crash faded away and my father backed up and continued down the road, I turned to him and said, "See? Sacrilege. You pissed off the spirits."
My father just ignored me after that, but the memory of that incident will stick with me for the rest of my life.