Today, we made Shef start Church School. He wasn’t that psyched, but it was time: he simply had to go.

For someone who had a very thoughtful and thorough religious upbringing, I’ve done a pretty shitty job of educating my child in the Christian faith. I think I mentioned Jesus once at Christmas last year, and then again at Easter, just before the traditional egg roll.

“Jesus is a baby,” Shef said then, confused.

“Oh, right,” I said lamely. “Well, he was one at Christmas, but now he’s died and, uh. Well. He’s risen from the dead.”

Blank stare.

"Here, have a jelly bean."

So, this morning, as we were playing with the knights, wiling away the time before our return to worship, I started in again: “So, Shef, what do you know about God?”

“Nothing,” he answered, snapping a mace into his jouster’s hand without looking up. “What is it?”

I'm afraid that Church School has a lot of heathen to knock out of him. Godspeed to them in their efforts.