The Reluctant Jesus: A Satirical Dark Comedy Read Free

successful, Mother stepped in and took over. Even though she had no experience, she initially took over his bookkeeping to allow him to concentrate on the mechanical side of things. Then as business grew and more staff was hired, she appointed herself managing director and ran the office—taking bookings, ordering the spare parts, and putting herself in charge, reducing my dad to nothing more than an extra mechanic.
    It became so you would have never known it was Dad’s business. She hijacked it from under him. The only relief for Dad came after I was born, and she acquired a new focus for her controlling persona. She hired her older sister, Marla, to run things whilst she stayed at home and raised me. Mother would still issue orders, using Marla as her mouthpiece, and though she was equally as unqualified as my mom, Father accepted Marla as his new boss with carte blanche responsibility, as he was directed by Mother to deal with the hiring and firing and general running of the business. Mother didn’t care what she did or said as long as it suited her and her plans. She was the boss, there was no doubt about that, and she ruled all the roosts.
    Where I was concerned, though, I was the golden child, and I could do no wrong. I was her pride and joy, her little miracle, as she would call me, which thankfully subsided when I got to high school. I admit quite freely that not just Mother spoiled me as a child though she was the main culprit and chief spoiler, but my dad, my uncle Jacob, and my aunt Marla spoiled me. Only the best was good enough for me: private tutors, trips to baseball games, toys; you name it, I got it, and I readily admit I enjoyed being number one. My bar mitzvah, as my father likes to remind me, cost him well over five thousand dollars, which, in 1980, was a lot of money. It was quite a party, though.
    Mother saw to that. Like everything else, she hijacked it, and to her circle of friends and cronies, Seth’s bar mitzvah was remembered and referred to as “Irma’s most fabulous party ever; wasn’t the boy there too?” I suppose it is understandable that my parents spoiled me. All Jewish mothers love to spoil their kids, and when you are the only child and a son, well, it was inevitable. A direct result of my mother’s affection for me was that I didn’t have many friends growing up. Mother would vet any potential playmates, and it seemed no one was good enough. I did have my buddies from little league though I was never allowed to bring them home. School was the same. I was a bright kid and not unpopular, but after school, friends were not permitted, so I spent my summers and weekends with Mother and Dad and on the odd occasion, my uncle Jacob.
    It was always a treat to spend time with my uncle Jacob because he doted on me. He was in the Navy, some sort of officer who dealt with the ship’s radars, and I would anticipate his visits with excitement when he had shore leave. I spent a lot of time with Uncle Jacob. He looked like a movie star, and we would always get free Cokes from waitresses who would often flirt with him. I was devastated when he died a few weeks after my bar mitzvah, as were my mother and my dad. I remember hearing Mother cry for the first time at his funeral, and I still remember her sobbing for days after his funeral. When Dad was busy with the repair shop, Uncle Jacob would sometimes take me to my little league games. I recall it was a great feeling, having him and Mother cheer me from the bleachers and hugging every time I hit or caught the ball.
    Another relative who spent a lot of time with me when I was a kid was Aunt Marla. She was the total opposite of her sister. Though she was blessed with the same pretty features, she did not possess the hard-nosed attitude of her younger sibling. In the same way my mother bullied my father, I suspected that my mother bullied Aunt Marla. I always got the feeling that she felt uncomfortable around Mother, and there always seemed to be an