Be my son’s godfather. Please!

On Sunday, I went with Chris to a church in 105 degree Fremont to his friend’s baby’s christening. Having never attended a baby’s baptism (beyond my own and my sister who is a year younger than me), I was intrigued.

It was my first time meeting Chris’ friend. A friend whose name I had heard on multiple occasions, but never met. Perhaps due her jealous husband. Her kids. Or the fact that she did not want to be seen when she was very very pregnant.

On the way in, Chris spotted a car in the parking lot. “Oh, looks like Seabring is still going strong! She had asked me to help her choose her car.”

Entering the building, a small reprieve from the burning heat in the parking lot, I saw a Flipino woman near the altar waving. Like all Chris’ friends, she was excited to see him. She motioned us to an empty seat on the bench. Chris crawled over several people. I went the long way around, wanting to appear presentable and mature. They hugged and exchanged excited chatter.

As I sat down, Chris’ friend came over with her baby. She looked at him, “Will be Michelsy’s godfather? Please! Please!”

Chris opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He smiled instead.

“Please!” she said again as the pastor called attention to everyone present and headed back to her seat.

I nudged Chris, “Are you ready for this?”

Chris said, “I think so.”

Then when it came time for the godparents to anoint the child. He walked up to the front row, standing in a good formation so that he would not block the constant click of photography.

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