Dad Shares a Beer with God

a true story

I made a mixed-media painting of my dad. (I’m giving it to him on his 100th birthday.)

We’re throwing a party for my dad’s 100th birthday this Sunday. Ever since we moved him into a senior living place four minutes from our house, my husband and I see Dad every day. We read Vonnegut and Kafka to him, we yell at Alexa together, we turn up the TV, we talk, we remember (or not), and we laugh (a lot).

A few years back, Dad had a sudden onset of scary dementia/psychedelic episodes that made everything else in my world come to a halt. That year of chaos inspired me to write a play (Nudnik, which had a reading with the Dramatist Guild), a limited edition poetry art book, You Should Write About This, and an award-winning documentary short, Dad’s Frenemy. Happily, we got things under control by taking him OFF the wrong meds and on better ones. He’s doing great now (knock on me.)

(For the record, I don’t think Dad’s cocktail hour with God is crazy. If I’m honest, I’m actually kinda jelly.)

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EXT. COURTYARD OF SENIOR LIVING HOME - HOLLYWOOD, CA - DAY

Annie just found out that her Dad has been having weekly conversations with God over a beer.

ANNIE: Wow, that’s amazing.

DAD: I know. I always pegged him as a wine guy.

ANNIE: What do you talk about?

DAD: Oh, you know, this and that, this and that.

ANNIE: Okay, give me one this.

DAD: Well, I didn’t want to bother him. He seemed overwhelmed.

ANNIE: I would imagine.

DAD: I did tell him that I think he made a mistake trying to create the entire world in six days with only one day to rest.

ANNIE: He should have taken more time.

DAD: At least a month.

ANNIE: You must have so many things you want to ask him.

DAD: I did ask him who his boss was.

ANNIE: Like, Let me speak to the manager?

DAD: No, no… I just wanted to know if there’s a God of God.

ANNIE: And?

DAD: He wouldn’t say. Questions, questions, yes, I have many.

ANNIE: So ask.

DAD: No, no. I think he meets with me so he doesn’t have to think about those things.

ANNIE: Why you?

DAD: Why not me?

ANNIE: An atheist seems like a strange buddy for God.

DAD: Is that what I am? oh, I don’t know.

ANNIE: What are your questions?

DAD: Oh, you know, the normal ones. How could he let so many things go on? Why didn’t he stop the holocaust, slavery, this war, all wars?

ANNIE: Exactly! So, ask.

DAD: Oh, I couldn’t possibly.

ANNIE: Why not?

DAD: I don’t want to make God cry.