My son and I stood by the river watching drowned frogs float by after the hurricane. Rafts containing soaked, homeless people rushed past, one after the other. DPW workers, librarians, crossing guards. Two women screaming. Is that mom, my son asked. Yes, it is, Rob.
What does all this mean, he asked. One of us will have to make the meatloaf, son. The other woman was my mother in law. I suppressed a smile.
What will happen to them, dad?
They will go over the falls, crash into rocks and be broken into pieces, son. He wiped away a tear just as another raft carrying pizza guys wearing aprons blasted past to certain death.
Is there a God, the boy asked.
God is everywhere. I will take you to the dog park and let you watch old arthritic dogs still try to lick their own balls. That is evidence of God.
What will our government do?
Drop supplies from a helicopter and make speeches. Look at the bright side. More parking spaces for the survivors.
Then my son and I sang The Sun Will Come Up Tomorrow from Annie.
He was off key. I was perfect.
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