Camp Damascus(6)

I can already smell the garlic spaghetti sauce as it bubbles and churns on our kitchen stove. I’m thrilled Mom opted for pasta this evening.

My father, Luke Darling, is a kind-eyed man with dark features and thick glasses that make him look like Superman. Of course, just like Peter Pan, I’ve never actually read a Superman comic, but the cultural relevance of this secular hero has somehow permeated my life.

It’s concerning. Jesus Christ is the only true superhero.

“I’m so hungry,” I announce.

“Hi, So Hungry. I’m Dad,” my father retorts, prompting a playful groan to escape my throat.

We head inside and I immediately find myself bathed in spiritual warmth, a cozy sensation that causes the ice in my veins to melt away. That lingering chill has finally taken its leave, disappearing with such little fanfare I hardly remember it was there in the first place.

My mother, Lisa, greets me in the kitchen with a loud and excited wail. “Rose!” she cries out as though I’ve been gone for years, a sauce-covered wooden spoon gripped tightly in her hand. “My baby is back!”

Mom wraps her arms around me and plants a firm kiss on my cheek. When she pulls away, she immediately motions to the dining room table, coaxing me toward my place setting at the end.

“Hope you’re hungry,” she continues. “I made spaghetti.”

“I can smell that,” I reply warmly, “with extra garlic.”

My parents exchange excited glances, thrilled by this culinary transgression. We’re being bad tonight.

Mom is always well put together, but this evening she’s looking especially done up with a lime green dress and a string of pearls around her neck. Her makeup is less subtle than usual, a little extra red in the tone of her lips that she wouldn’t dare try if we were leaving the house this evening, and her stark blond hair is held back with a white band across the top of her head. She’s a small woman but full of energy, and tonight her natural beauty is on full display.

People say we look alike, and right now I can truly appreciate what a compliment that is.

I take my seat at the end of the table while my mother continues to move back and forth across the kitchen, hard at work as she guides this meal across the finish line with radiant enthusiasm.

Eventually, my father makes his way over and sits down next to me, a peculiar look in his eyes. He’s staring like he’s got something to say, an amused smirk just barely visible at the corners of his mouth.

“What?” I question.

“I see the light of the Lord in you tonight,” my father informs me, a compliment I’d take to heart if not for the fact that this loving message feels tethered to something I don’t understand.

Seconds later, Mom is setting down an enormous dish of spaghetti before us, steam rolling off the bright red sauce as it floods our nostrils with a robust aroma.

“Luke!” my mother blurts playfully. “Give her a moment!”

My dad smiles and leans back in his chair, still eyeing me mischievously.

“Okay, what’s going on here?” I glance back and forth between them as my mother takes her seat.

My query goes ignored as our conversation takes a sudden intermission, Luke and Lisa reaching their hands out to take my palms in theirs as we lower our heads. Nobody has to say a word as the three of us fall into our nightly routine.

We offer our prayer in unison, eyes shut tight as these words bounce from our mouths in a familiar cadence. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Bless us so that we may know our place in His kingdom as servants. Bless us so that we may give service to the Lord and the righteous lambs will be spared when the scale of ends meets the scale of means. Bless the Kingdom of the Pine for lighting the darkened path that our Shepherd walks. Amen.”

I begin to lift my gaze, but before I get the chance my father launches into an additional blessing. He’s clearly caught the spirit this evening. “And bless the Prophet Cobel, for the wisdom he has bestowed. Bless the Four Tenets that guide us. But, most of all, bless our beautiful daughter on this important day. Amen.”

“Amen,” my mother and I respond in turn.

The three of us lift our gazes once more, taking a beat before getting to work and dishing out some pasta.

Lisa can’t help chuckling to herself. “Most of all,” she repeats, shaking her head. “Don’t get cute, Luke.”

She’s referring to the part where my father placed my blessing above that of the Four Tenets and the Prophet Cobel. This is bad form and I’m a little bothered by it, but we’re playing it fast and loose tonight.

All I can do is refrain from pride and do better when it’s my turn to lead.

Out of respect, I run though all Four Tenets in my head, with a particular focus on number three this evening.


Respect—I will honor when I do not understand,


Integrity—I will believe when I do not witness,


Service—I will strive when my sin is heavy,


Excellence—I will persevere when my body does not.

“So,” Mom begins, curiosity overwhelming her tone and elevating it into a playful singsong frequency. “How was your date?”

I raise an eyebrow as I stab the mass of noodles before me, utterly confused. I begin to twirl my utensil. “What date?”