He’s not heavy, he’s my brother.

It’s all TGIM’s fault.

He just had to have the Accord today because apparently the Miata was not good enough for him. What? He couldn’t just shove all three kids in the passenger seat of the Miata? There’s a seatbelt! It’s long enough! But oh, no. Heaven forbid. Honestly. Can you say “selfish”?

I gave in and took the Miata, completely messing up my routine, but whatever. I’m just cool like that. I’m a giver.

It wasn’t until I was already on my way that I noticed there were no CD’s in the car. No tunes. And a gal needs tunes on her drive into work. Five in the morning is the perfect time for tunes. Preferably upbeat tunes because did I mention it’s five in the morning? Way early? Still dark out? Yes? You equal all comfy and snuggly in bed… and I be hatin’? Just so we’re clear.

So I was all, “No tunes? No enthusiastic though not necessarily tonally correct sing-a-longs? No chair-Axl Rose’ing to the grooves? No air guitaring?! Not that I do that?! Because it would be dangerous?! The hell?!”

This lack of tuneage created a rare opportunity for quiet reflection and meditation. But believe me when I say that I don’t like to do any heavy thinking on my drive into work. Nope, not a fan. Five in the morning is too early for heavy thoughts. Heavy thoughts bring a person down, yo? DOWN. And, seriously, I’ve already been awake since four. I don’t need any more downers.

I lasted about a minute and a half before the steady hum of the engine got to me, all mocking me with its steady humminess and whatnot. And that’s when it happened.

I turned on the radio.

I know, right?! The RADIO!

To make matters worse, TGIM had been listening to an AM channel. AM?! Good lord, man. Now just because I can’t stop TGIM from cluttering his mind with frivolous stuff like football stats and political nonsense doesn’t mean I have to join him. Tunes! That’s what I’m talking about! I tried to switch to FM– where the tunes live!– but my fingers were clumsy– so cold!– and unfamiliar with the knobs– not my usual car!– and I ended up scanning instead.

That’s when I overheard a debate about whether or not convicted child molesters should be allowed to attend church because children usually make up a large portion of a church’s congregation..

SCREEEEEEEEEECH!

Oh, but not literally. That was a figurative screech. A mental screech. Not a car-braking-suddenly-on-the-beltway screech. For reals.

Because… what?! Damn it. Couldn’t change the channel now, now could I? I was stuck.

And what really captured my attention was that a majority of the callers were dead-set against letting known pedophiles attend church services. “I’d have to switch churches if my pastor let a pedophile attend!” one lady said. “I’ve got three children to think about!” Another woman remarked that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy services because she’d be worried every time her children were out of her sight, perhaps at Sunday school or Bible class. One man insisted that church was like an all-you-can-eat buffet of children to pedophiles. He did suggest, however, that if pedophiles wanted to have God in their lives, they– like shut-ins– could have church services brought to them in their home.

Heavy thinking ensued.

Because the truth is… there is a convicted child molester in the congregation of my church. And this bothers me. A LOT. And make no mistake: the only reason I do know about this man’s predilection for young girls is that TGIM’s line of work puts him in the way of these people on a regular basis. When I asked the leaders of our congregation whether or not they were aware of this man’s status as a sex offender, they assured me that, yes, they did know, but since he must be accompanied by his wife (or someone else) at all times while at church, it’s all good.

Oh, really?

I thought about what bothered me more: the fact that this guy is allowed to be around my children on a weekly basis, or the fact that nobody saw fit to tell me– a mother of three– that this man sitting two pews over is a pedophile. After thinking much too heavily for five in the morning, I decided on the latter. Love the sinner, hate the sin (love the sinner, hate the sin, love the sinner, hate the sin, love the sinner, hate the sin…), that’s what they say, right? Not that I’m judging the callers, though, because on the most basic level, I don’t want him around me or my children, either. Period. Never ever. I want him far, faaaaaar away, in fact. But I suppose that not many need God in their lives more than these predators, I tell you what, so more power to ‘em. But forewarned is forearmed, that is all I’m saying.

By the time I got to work my head hurt from all that heavy thinking and I felt frustrated– angry, even– with myself for not doing more to alert other parents at church about the sex offender in our midst.

All in all, I think it’s safe to say that I would have rather just had my tunes.

Stupid radio.

It’s all TGIM’s fault.