Baby Bear goes downstairs and sits in his small chair at the table, he looks into his small bowl. It is empty. “Who’s been eating my porridge?!!”, he squeaks.

Papa Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl, and it is also empty. “Who’s been eating my Porridge?!!,” he roars.

Momma Bear puts her head through the serving hatch from the kitchen and yells, “For Pete’s sake, how many times do we have to go through this? It was Momma Bear who got up first, it was Momma Bear who woke everyone in the house, it was Momma Bear who made the coffee, it was Momma Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away, it was Momma Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper, it was Momma Bear who set the table, it was Momma Bear who put the cat out, cleaned the litter box, and filled the cat’s water and food dish, and, now that you’ve decided to drag your sorry bear-butts downstairs, and grace Momma Bear’s kitchen with your grumpy presence, listen good, cause I’m only going to say this one more time . . .

“I HAVEN’T MADE THE PORRIDGE YET !!”

An acquaintance of mine who is a physician told this story about her then four-year-old daughter. On the way to preschool, the doctor had left her stethoscope on the car seat, and her little girl picked it up and began playing with it. Be still, my heart, thought my friend, my daughter wants to follow in my footsteps! Then the child spoke into the instrument:

“Welcome to McDonald’s. May I take your order?”

Little Leroy went to his mother demanding a new bicycle. His mother decided that he should take a look at himself and the way he acts. She said, “Well Leroy, it isn’t Christmas and we don’t have the money to just go out and buy you anything you want. So why don’t you write a letter to Jesus and pray for one instead.”

After his temper tantrum his mother sent him to his room. He finally sat down to write a letter to Jesus.

Dear Jesus:

Leroy

Now Leroy knew that Jesus really knew what kind of boy he was (a Brat). So, he ripped up the letter and decided to give it another try.

Dear Jesus:

Leroy

Well, Leroy knew this wasn’t totally honest so he tore it up and tried again.

Dear Jesus:

Leroy

Well, Leroy looked deep down in his heart, which by the way was what his mother was really wanting. He crumpled up the letter threw it in the trash can and went running outside. He aimlessly wandered about; depressed because of the way he treated his parents and really considering his actions. He finally found himself in front of a Catholic Church. Leroy went inside and knelt down. Looking around not knowing what he should really do. Leroy finally got up and began to walk out the door and was looking at all the statues. All of a sudden he grabbed a small one and ran out the door. He went home hid it under his bed and wrote this letter.

Jesus,

You know who.