I believe in a loving God, a benevolent spirit who graces the universe. I believe most people are basically good. That’s why when bad stuff happens, it’s called “news.” I believe that given a choice between good and evil, people will choose good most of the time.
I believe it is God’s will that when a person cuts me off on Interstate 25, I must chase that person for 40 miles until he sees the error of his ways, even if I have to get off on E-470 (which is not where I’m going) and pay a toll to do so.
OK, I don’t really believe that last one (because I’m a spiritual giant). But I’ve done it.
My current daily commute from Fort Collins to Denver is karmic retribution for all the remarks I made when I owned a condo just six blocks from our firm’s uptown digs and my boss had to fight her way in from Littleton every day.
“How are things in New Mexico?” I’d say cheerily as she slowly began to un- grit her teeth from the morning march. As a longtime central-Denverite, why anyone would make the conscious choice to live outside the city limits was beyond me, and I frequently congratulated myself on my hip geographical superiority.
Then, I met a woman.
A man’s fate inevitably begins with those words, and I am no different. Once you fall in love, you’re liable to do all kinds of crazy stuff, so now I live in Fort Collins and work in Denver.
I spend a lot of time looking at the backs of other vehicles. Recently, after seeing my 37th fish symbol of the day, I thought back to the time before fish symbols on cars were in vogue, which I’m just old enough to remember. When I first saw one, I had no idea what it meant until a friend of mine explained that it stood for Jesus. (“Does He have a car dealership now?” asked my friend, comedian Nora Lynch. “Like ‘Jesus Chrysler-Plymouth’?”)
Well, I have to admit that the fish symbol seems a little more positive than, say, a cross. As the late, great comedian Bill Hicks explained, “If Jesus comes back, do you really think he wants to see another cross?”
For a while, the fish had a virtual monopoly on mobile trunk-based proselytizing, but then came the response from non-believers: the fish-with-legs-and- Darwin-nameplate. The opening salvo had been fired.
Not content to turn the other cheek, a number of indignant folks rushed out and bought the next generation in automotive-oriented religious accessories (or is it “religiously oriented automotive accessories”?), a big fish swallowing the Darwin walking fish. Just so no one mistakes the message for, say, a bumper sticker for a bait shop, the big fish is emblazoned with the word “Truth.”
I suspect the next response from the agnostic side will be some slightly more advanced amphibious creature eating the “Truth fish.” Theoretically, this whole thing could go back and forth enough times to roughly parallel the actual history of evolution, although I bet most of the fish folks wouldn’t admit it.
Pondering this pescatorial polemic the other day while making my morning trek down I-25, the formerly comfortable amount of space between my car and the one in front of me was suddenly replaced by a Dodge Caravan six inches from my hood. I was then afforded a rather close-up view of two large fish ornaments and seven smaller ones. I assumed the fish symbolized a Christian nuclear family – papa fish, mama fish and baby fish – although I allowed myself a fantasy in which the children are now grown and have actually formed their own theological opinions (“OK, I’ll buy the turning water into wine bit, but I’m still having a hard time with this whole virgin-birth thing”) and thus as a form of permanent penance their fishy familial forms are only allowed half the stature of their fully devout parents’.
In their desire to communicate their no-doubt-heartfelt philosophies to strangers everywhere, the fish family also had a bumper sticker with the revelation that “Abortion stops a beating heart.” So, potentially, does cutting off another car when you’re both going 92 mph, I thought to myself.
I happen to believe that a couple who brings seven children into the world is using up more than their fair share of this planet’s resources and ought to be subject to a “selfish procreation” tax. So far, though, I have refrained from attempting to make these beliefs into a state law or even printing them out and sticking them to the back of my vehicle.
I also refrained from chasing the minivan for cutting me off.
I am, after all, a spiritual giant.
George McClure (gmcclure4@comcast.net ) is a former standup comic who now works as general manager of a Denver marketing firm.
