[Editor's Note: Shea Serrano is an award-winning music writer and goofball]
Everywhere except L.A., the weather has been shitty. Here in Houston, a nasty frost forced closed all of the city's schools and many of its businesses on Friday. The roads were so treacherous and lethal and unforgiving that, even despite the limited traffic, there were more than 500 accidents.
But the front moved in and out quickly. Before too long it was safe to move around again. By Sunday, it was downright pleasant. And by Monday, the schools were fully operational again. At least they were, until one of my sons called God.]Monday evening after school, word began floating around that another blast was heading our way, that it was likely to handicap everything and everyone again.
So we waited for an announcement from the district that they were going to close again, and we did so fully expecting to have to wait until 5 a.m. the morning of to finally hear, which is how it happened on Friday. At dinner time, I asked Bay, one of my six year old twin sons, if he wanted to miss school again. He was like, “UM, FUCK YEAH I DO, DADDY.”
So I said, “First, stop saying fuck. Second, you're cool with God, right?”
He said, “Yes I am very cool with God.” Since the very first day that Wife took our kids to church, Bay has seemed more instinctively in tune with religion than basically anyone I've ever met.
I said, “Okay, good, me too. So why don't you call your homie God tonight when you go to sleep and ask him to push his thumb on Houston and shut it down?” He said, “Sure, daddy,” and he said it like he knew he could. I smiled.
At exactly 9:37 p.m., one hour and 37 minutes after we'd sent the boys off to bed, the phone rang. I picked it up. It was an automated message from the school district letting me know that schools were closed the next day. I quietly celebrated by doing Ginuwine body rolls in the front room while Wife sat on the couch looking at me. And then there was creepiness.
I heard teeny-tiny footsteps coming down the stairs. This was maybe one minute after I got off the phone (that he couldn't possibly have heard ring because it was on vibrate). It was Bay. “Daddy,” he said. “I called God. He said he'll make sure we don't have school.”
I can tell by the fact that you are still reading this that your eyes did not explode out of your school, which means you're not as blown away by this as you should be. But, I mean, how do you explain it? It was a true life miracle.
Bay asked if since there was no school they could come back downstairs and stay up for a little bit and watch TV and I said yes because fuck you if you think I'm going to pickle God's favorite six-year-old. We ended up watching videos on YouTube because we always end up watching videos on YouTube. Here's what they picked:
The boys have liked a lot of songs, but this is maybe the best that they've ever chosen. Second place: when they were three and ended up falling for SPM's “Screens Falling,” mostly because they thought the chorus was “cheeeeeeeeeese falllllllling from the sky.”
“Gummy Bear Song”
This is what that feels like:
The boys are heavy into Mortal Kombat right now, which is weird because they've only ever played it twice. Still, this is one diversion from music that I don't mind because when I was little (and even today, really) I fucking LOVED Mortal Kombat. When we watched this one, my son said, “Daddy, why does Scorpion like to set everyone on fire? And who do you think would win in a fight: Scorpion or LeBron James?” That kid is a goddamn genius, yo.
Okay, one other video that I don't mind. The boys and I have seen this one maybe 20 times in the last year. It's legit incredible. (Fast forward to 1:39.) The best line: When the guy refers to the crocodiles as “Hidden death beneath the surface.” That's just a rock hard thing to say.
“I Like To Move It”
King Julian from Madagascar