My Father’s Conversion
by Gayla Chaney
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There, just beyond the place where Keegan’s Point juts out into the water like a greedy hand trying to snatch some boat back to shore, that is where my father claims he met God. I don’t know if he is sure of the exact location or if he is merely trying to pin down some coordinates, just in case he wants to sink a stone memorial overboard so he can feel like it really means something.

I tend to be a doubting Thomas or Thomasina as the case may be. Maybe it is because of my brief exposure to Darwinism in high school, or perhaps it is just my basic suspicious nature, but there are certain aspects of my father’s story that are just plain hard to swallow. I can’t deny that it seems to give him a great deal of satisfaction to gaze out toward Keegan’s Point, particularly in the early mornings when the sun rays strike the water causing it to sparkle. This glistening, fluid evidence is a personal testimony to my father that the spot is divine He flatly states that at that precise spot two years ago, the Lord God spoke directly to him, Leonard Vance, my father, in the clearest mental telepathic voice, instructing him to stop harassing his ex-wife Wanda, as he had been ordered to do by the court, and he would be rewarded with another woman, one that would understand him and not be so argumentative. God added that if my father remained bullheaded and unreasonable, he would end up in jail or worse because, God informed him, it was coming to that.

Thankfully, my father took God at His word that evening -- having finally had his fill of being hauled into Judge Harmon’s court for stalking Wanda and her fiancé and for busting the fellow’s antenna off his car and other vandalistic acts which had been going on since my dad and Wanda called it quits. My dad believes that his former behavior was part of God’s plan for his life, leading him to the spot just off Keegan’s Point where he had let his boat, the Langtree Lady, drift that evening while he was trying to keep himself from going out to look for Wanda.

My father came home a changed man after that experience, ready for whatever woman God led his way. Certain that every lady he saw was heaven sent, my father often ended up perplexed by the unwillingness of ladies he met on the street or in any public place to just accept God’s will for their lives, in the form of Leonard Vance. My father never doubted God’s message; he claimed the women were just being "stiff-necked," which is a biblical term he has picked up somewhere in his newfound religion.

“They are still wandering in the wilderness of their misguided lives,” my dad explained after being rebuffed by two women in the cafeteria line. I nodded, pretending to study the displayed vegetables. While I made my selections, Dad continued speaking about walking with God and yielding to His divine will.

“Just accept His holy plan,” Dad blurted out, speaking loud enough for the ladies standing in line behind us to hear. I turned in time to catch him winking at one of them. Embarrassed, I spun back around and ordered the vegetable plate, hoping the sound of vegetables would remind my father of our purpose in the cafeteria. “Fried okra, carrots, lima beans, and cornbread, please.” It was a weak attempt to distract him, but it was all I could think to do on such short notice.

My father suffers from gout, which has limited his courting practices. The swollen joints in his feet make it difficult for him to stand for long periods of time, much less go dancing as he once did, back when he first met Wanda. But my father has not despaired. He simply asked God to provide a way that precluded standing, dancing, or moving much at all. That’s when my son, Garrett, introduced Dad to the ‘Net.

“Grandpa, this is the best investment you will ever make.” Garrett pitched the virtues of his old computer to his grandfather who warily watched his grandson’s face. Garrett is the son of a used car salesman, my ex, and at times, Garrett appears to be a chip off the old block, swindling classmates and neighbors and possibly grandfathers while smiling and acting like their best friend.

“If it is such a great investment, how come one of your clever computer buddies hasn’t already bought it?” My father questioned Garrett, scrutinizing any twitch or facial movement that he could interpret as a subconscious confession.

“Grandpa, all my friends have this one already or a newer one. I want a newer one myself. But you won’t need anything better than this for what you’re going to use it for. Let me show you.” Garrett grabbed a chair from the kitchen table for his grandfather to sit in, pulling it up close to his own as he introduced my father to the world of chat rooms. After an hour, my dad was hooked.

But even as he was writing the check out to my son, my father told him he expected a three-year warranty for his purchase, written and signed by Garrett, with me as a legal witness. To which he added before letting go of the check, just in case Garrett didn’t know, Leonard Vance wasn’t born yesterday.

My father is now permanently online, entering a world that he could not have envisioned when he was out looking for Wanda. He realizes now that pursuing her took all of his energy and focus. But without her, he is now free to spread himself around. That’s the way he describes what he does on the computer. And when he gets a response he likes over the Internet, my father bellows, “Praise be to God!” I know it shouldn’t, but it bothers me that with all the gratitude he regularly expresses, he hasn’t once given thanks to Garrett who led him into this electronic Promised Land.

It was in this sea of bytes and RAM that God’s prophecy, as my father understood it, was fulfilled and not just with one woman, either. My father claims he has his “quiver full” which is another biblical expression he has adopted. I don’t bother to say, “Dad, that scripture reference has to do with children, offspring, not women.” I don’t want to burst his bubble about God. Besides, for all I know scriptures may be meant to be adjusted for different situations and different people.