There was a certain town that had a certain family that had a certain young boy. This little boy’s name was Charles, but no one called him Charles. They called him Chuck through no fault of his own.
Chuck wasn’t the tallest boy in second grade, but he wasn’t the shortest either. Freckles splashed across his short, pudgy nose giving a flitting allusion of innocence. His jet-black hair was normally straight until it got to a particular length and then it would curl sincerely around and about his ears and eyes. This caused considerable teasing, which he was dutifully responded with a punch in the offender’s softer portions of the body.
Chuck was an obedient little boy when his folks were watching. He said “Please” and “Thank you” under the watchful ear of his mother. He shared his toys and possessions when his father was nearby. All other times though, he was one hundred per cent boy. He’d catch frogs and put them in his sister’s bed. At bath time he’d fill the tub full of water and in the course of five short minutes have the majority of the bathroom floors, walls and ceilings sopping wet. Rags, his faithful canine, spent numerous nights asleep under the bedcovers, both parties ignoring the “no pets in bed” rule.
All was not fun and games for Chuck. Sunday School was not his favorite place to spend forty-five minutes every Sunday of the year. He thought Mrs. Swan, his Sunday School teacher, did not look anything like her name. Wisely he knew not to repeat what he thought her name should be and if he told anyone, he’d have his ears boxed clear up to next Wednesday.
Mrs. Swan neck was quite to opposite of the feathered creature she was named after. The numerous wrinkles on her face seemed confused as if they didn’t know if they were coming or going. Her cotton ball style hair-do was blue-ish in color. She was as lumpy as his mom’s dumplings.
This certain Sunday morning the young children sat in a lovely circle on small wooden chairs. Mrs. Swan began reading the story about Lot and Sodom. Chuck, the weekly antagonist for Mrs. Swan, was actually listening and involved in the story about Lot. This pleased Mrs. Swan very much. So much so that she read with great enthusiasm, dictation and flair. The children soaked up every word.
She finished the story and rewarded her attentive audience with a bright, toothy smile. Mrs. Swan was not at all surprised to see a certain hand waving like a dancing cobra.
“Yes, Chuck. You have a question?”
“Yes, Mrs. Swan.” Chuck politely stood. “Now, let me see if I got this right. Mr. Lot talked to some angels and they told him God was going to destroy the city.”
“Well, what happened to the flea?”
Mrs. Swan’s smile vanished and she presented the children a different view of her teeth as her mouth dropped open. “Flea?”
“Yes, Mrs. Swan. You said that Lot was warned to take his wife and flee out of the city.”
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