Poor Shoeless Jesus

by - April 28, 2011

"Mommy, you know what?" Liam is in his booster seat behind me, caught in that lazy after-church haze that keeps eyes at half mast and voice sweet and cracking.
"What, Liam?" Only half interested because I too am weary and sinking.
"Desus doesn't have any sooes." It's a statement - not a question.
"What do you mean?" I turn in my seat so I can see him, legs straight as running shoes press against my own seat, new library book on his lap, fingers playing with the curling cover.
"Desus doesn't have any sooes.  He dust wears bayow feet evwywhayow."
"Jesus walked a lot, Liam.  I think he probably wore sandals most of the time."
"Nope."  He's quiet for a moment.  "He wayows a towoowl.  Wike a dwess.  Kinda wike a zombie costoom."
"You mean a robe?"
He shrugs.  "Yeah, I duess.  It's white.  Know how I know?"
"How do you know?"
"I watched a movie at turch.  Desus didn't have any sooes."

And to a four year old it's solid, undeniable fact.

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