popsicle sticks and jesus

the child was holding a lopsided crucifix made out of two popsicle sticks held together with too much white glue. i could see that the join was still milky and wondered how long he could clutch it in his little fist before it fell apart. his mother grasped a crucifix made out of unfinished 2x4's held together with too many screws and bent nails. she had tried to mask the sloppy intersection by winding raffia around it, but even that was done badly and the effect was total 'regretsy'. she stood in the center of the empty plaza screaming out hellfire and brimstone to no one but her invisible master. the sweet little boy was not acknowledged by his mother but stood obediently beside her and wore a smile on his face. he seemed proud to be holding his project. i stood and watched her for a long while. the depth of her fury seemed endless and sometimes the sun would illuminate the spray of saliva she spewed when she pounded out her consonants. i wondered how people could miss the point so completely that they were willing to squander their few years of existence in a perpetual state of fear and anger. i also wondered how long it would take the the woman to fully erode all the innate happiness inside of the little boy.