BAPTISM

And now to a discussion of rights, copy rights, and its relation to personal experience. I’m not in Denmark right now, so I have to put up with people’s stupidity as to the extent of enforcing rights to the left and to the right - the other right - so that ultimately, if you want to watch certain TV programs on your computer you are informed ever so politely about the impossibility of the fact due to whatever rights. Of course, the fact that it is ever so stupid to block transmission in this day and age of transmission is never mentioned. So, let’s just put it this way: as a general rule, rights have not been invented to help anybody but to create hassle. And this goes for every situation and that in spite of claims to the contrary. One does feel like smashing the gadgets every now and then. Lucky for us, however, when we are pursued by Murphy’s law: “if it doesn't fit, use a bigger hammer,” there’s always something else we can write about.

I was invited today for coffee in the middle of the Swedish wilderness. As it turned out, one of my colleagues is also vacationing very nearby where I’m staying, so I popped in. In the house there were two 6-year-old boys. Stephen and Valdemar. It started with Valdemar. I made references to his shirt that had a fire truck on it. On the upper half it also had some footballs with some odd graphic on them that looked like flowers to me. So I said: “Valdemar, what’s up with the marguerites and the fire truck?” Valdemar went on a roll explaining how I got it wrong. The grown-ups in the house were surprised. They told me that Valdemar has a speech impediment and is therefore shy. He was born two months prematurely. He is the kid of a friend of theirs and the best friend of their own son, Stephen. Well, speech impediment or not, it turned out that I could get anything I wanted out of Valdemar. He was smitten. Then Stephen. He came up to me and said: “what about my shirt?” “Oh la la,” I said, “the Eiffel tower! Have you ever been there, kissing your girlfriend on its top?” “No way,” he said, “I was underneath it, and no kissing.” Then I said: “Well, too bad for you. You don’t go to Paris if you are not up for some kissing.” He was also smitten. The ground for playing was open major time. They brought their pet to me, a huge toy, a moose. “What do we have here,” I asked, and “what is its name?” “It has no name,” the boys replied.” “What do you mean, it has no name?” I asked appallingly. “We have to baptise the creature instantly,” I then said, and waited for suggestions. “We’ll call it nothing,” Valdemar said. I gave Valdemar a very serious look. “Valdemar, unless you’re a philosopher, we’re not going to call the moose “Nothing.” “I do karate,” Valdemar replied. “Well then, you can start with bowing to me, and then here’s what we do: you each take a solemn position by my side, and at the exact same time you’re going to whisper a name into my ears. Valdemar said: “Stephen”. Stephen said: “Brille.” “Stephen Brille it is, then,” I said, and started the ceremony: “in nomine patre et fili et spiritus sancti, I baptise you, moose, Stephen Brille.” The boys were pleased and then ran to their rooms to hide under their quilts. Stephen was leading. I said, “hey, do you know what happens if you do that?” “No,” he said from under the quilt. “You invite me to come teach you how to kiss a girl, useful for your next visit to Paris.” Valdemar went wild, and Stephen expectant. We ended up back in the kitchen with both boys all over me. I placed my hands, with both my palms stretched, over their faces. First Valdemar, who was humbled, and then Stephen. And then something miraculous happened. Stephen did the same to me. He stretched his palms and ran them softly and tenderly over my face. Oh, what can I say? I was moved by such unfiltered openness. When I left I was still high and filled with emotion. And the boys, well, they were irremediably in love. It was a good day. Amen.