As a man, my first priority in life is my God. Running a close second is my family.
I treasure my wife, son, and daughter as if they were my own. Which I’m not convinced they really are. I keep feeling like I’m going to wake up and find it was all some elaborate practical joke. Frankly, that’s easier to believe than the idea that I’ve have such a beautiful wife, much less that my genetic code could possibly have contributed to such an awesome pair of kids. But supposedly this is actually happening. Heh.
My Wife, Sarah
In 2005, the beautiful and talented Sarah Sikes allegedly became Sarah Sigler, and her fate was sealed.
The progeny of what might be two of the world’s most eclectic individuals, this hippie princess possessed the intellectual fortitude to stand toe-to-toe with a jaded nerd unfit for public consumption. Daily demonstrations of the unyielding love of God empowered her to civilize this uncouth cat through the guerrilla tactics common to feminine wiles.
In the summer of 1998, she played hard-to-get like a champ, masterfully wrapping a clingy twig of a teenage boy around her pinky with smooth likes like, “Fine! Fine! If it will get you to shut up, I’ll hold your hand!” Such a saucy minx.
Seven awkward years later, the alleged wedding happened, and I became either the luckiest man on the planet or the unluckiest mark ever.
“Sarah” (if that’s her real name) has played her role well. Too well, if you ask me. But now, all these years later, this woman claiming to be my wife is the single most important person in my life and a cause for daily celebration. If I’m being duped, I’m cool with it. She’s that good.
My Son, Korban
In 2010, my wife peed on a stick.
Not like a small piece of wood found beneath a tree (though she may have done that, too; I can’t rule it out), but rather some plastic fortune-telling contraption with an unenigmatic portrayal of a plus sign. The fortune it foretold has indeed cost me a fortune, but I consider myself fortunate. Presuming, of course, this isn’t just another step in a long con.
Which it might very well be.
Think about it: my son has personality, creativity, and cunning. All those are traits he could have just as easily gained from his “mother” (she has all three in ample supply). As for Korban’s resemblance to me—well, that could all be a part of the plan. I mean, what does one need to be, say, a master of disguise? Well now, off the top of my head, I’d say perhaps a deft personality, some creative juices, and—I dunno—maybe a bit of cunning?
How’s that for evidence?!
My Daughter, Jade
Whoever is behind this grand conspiracy, I suspect they’re on to my suspicions. The evidence, I think, is my daughter, Jade. She’s beautiful, sure, and sharp as a whip. When I pray over her at bedtime, I ask God to “help her to know she’s loved, beautiful, brilliant, and capable,” and His touch is unambiguous. She’s awesome, and she knows it.
It’s that latter part that’s the tell. They tried to adjust her to better align to my personality. She’s mischievous, and has been demonstrating an artistic talent for sarcasm since she was three. She trolls her brother constantly, and in the most subtle, clever ways. This, I think, is supposed to set my mind at ease. Make me think she’s truly from my heritage.
But they missed the mark. Spunky though she may be, she shows compassion and love WAY more than I’ve ever been capable of. To the degree that it could only have come from Sarah. My working theory? Genetic modification.
I can’t go into the details.
It’s all inconclusive, I admit. Which just makes it all the more suspicious, if you really think about it. And I have.
There are other factors at work here. Godchildren, close friends, and companions we’ve accumulated over the past decade plus. If the “family” I have is actually some hoax, I’ve yet to identify the positions of these other individuals. Are they in on the scam? Or are they fellow victims of the same ruse?
The jury’s still out on this. In the meantime, I’m going to play along. I’m having a blast, after all.