Man, I do love a good rock opera.
Now I'm not a big traditionalist, but I don't think my daughter should be punished for some dude and some chick eating an apple—which, if you think about it, must be the lamest sin in history. I can only imagine how that scene must have gone down:
Adam: "Hey Eve, wanna smoke this crack?"
Eve: "Hell no! I've got something much better than that."
Adam: "What is it?"
Eve: "An apple."
Aside from the fact that this poor excuse for a sin is the most touted and recognizable sin of all of time, it's still a church-approved offense that must be washed away. So after a few phone calls (and several weekly donations), we had a time and a place for Ella to join the church. Throw in a few more calls and we had a reception hall and caterer. Everything was falling into place. Only one detail left to be resolved: The Godparents.
Being named Godparent houses a lot of responsibility. You must guide the child spiritually. You must support them when they need support. You must buy them an extra gift every Christmas, and it must be something good. Not a sweater. Kids hate sweaters.
Brittany asked me my opinion, so I told her I would send out a call to all my Life of Dad readers requesting a resume, a list of references and a two-paragraph essay on why they deserve to be Ella's Godparent. After the submissions rolled in, I'd narrow the list down to 20 worthy candidates and send them a Godparent quiz. The quiz would include revealing questions like "If Ella came to you with a boy problem, what would you say to her?" and "What is the capital of Montana" (The correct answers here are "You punch that boy in the crotch and lock yourself in your parents' house until you're 32" and "Helena.") From there, we narrow it down to the top six contenders and hold live interviews. After a few weeks of careful deliberation, we could choose the two people who display the best qualities for this position.
"Or," said Brittany, "We could just make our sisters Godparents."
"Let's hope they know their state capitals."
Traditionally, you have two godparents—a godmother (female) and a godfather (male, Italian decent a plus). But again, I've never been much of a traditionalist. And in Church 2.0 the godparents don't have to be different genders. Plus, Brittany's argument for using her sister Allison and my sister Jennifer were strong: Both will love our child more than most anyone, both have a strong sense of right and wrong, and both are extremely aware of the "no sweaters as gifts" rule. While it wasn't exactly the selection process an HR department would approve, it was one I could comfortably and happily accept.
So this past Sunday, family and a few friends watched as Ella got dunked in that giant bowl and shed herself of original sin. They watched as Ali and Jennie confirmed that they'd help raise our daughter in the name of faith, love, humility and hope. They watched as my wife shed a tear and I mouthed to my buddy Will, "What time does the Bengals' game start?"
All in all, it was a pretty amazing event.