I don’t believe in god, necromancy, faith, spirituality, acupuncture, alchemy, ancient astronauts, applied kinesiology, astrology, Ayurvedic medicine, biorhythms, cellular memory, cold fusion, craniometry, creation science, scientology, enneagrams, esoteric healing, eugenics, ESP,facilitated communication, graphology, homeopathy, intelligent design, iridology, kundalini, Lysenkoism, metoposcopy, N-rays, naturopathy, orgone energy, paranormal plant perception, phrenology, physiognomy, polygraph, qi, rebirthing therapy, feng shui, zen, reflexology, remote viewing, neuro-linguistic programming, reiki, Rolfing, therapeutic touch, the revised history of the solar system proposed by Immanuel Velikovsky, higher powers, or Internet coaching.
I especially don’t believe in Internet coaching.
However, two days ago my son had gotten home from work and was getting a late dinner started and he had an unopened bottle of beer on the table. I had eaten earlier and was keeping him company as he sat down to eat. I noticed that he didn’t have anything on his salad.
“Want me to get you some dressing for that?”
“Sure,” he said. As I returned to the table I noticed the unopened bottle.
“You want me to open that and put it in a pint glass for you?”
“Sure, Dad,” he said. “That would be great.”
It was a bottle of Green Flash West Coast IPA, one of my favorites. I cracked it open and started filling up the glass. It smelled so good, you have no idea. As it poured, filling the glass with its beautiful amber color, I realized that I should really have a sip. I wafted the glass under my nose after emptying the bottle.
“One sip isn’t going to hurt,” I told myself. Every cell in my body was screaming in happy anticipation. “I haven’t had a drink in months,” I told myself firmly. “I can do this.”
Just before I took the sip, I felt a gentle slap upside the back of my head. “Don’t do it,” a voice said.
I looked around but there was no one there. My son was looking at me. “You okay, Dad?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, handing him the untouched beer and trembling ever so slightly.
He ate dinner and we had a very nice conversation, mostly about beer. An hour later I checked my email before getting into bed. There was an email from a friend, time stamped at almost exactly the time I’d been teetering on the edge. Here’s what it said:
On May 26, 2015, at 9:07 PM, XXX < email@example.com> wrote:
You may not count the days but I do.
Congratulations on six months of no hangovers and kicking butt on the bike.
Like I said, I don’t believe in spirits or pseudoscience, but, well, the timing sure was funny.
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