On Monday night, we participated in our church's Upward Award celebration. And we did something a little different than what we normally do. We welcomed the Christian Wrestling Federation, and watched them beat the holy righteousness out of one another.
First off, I feel like I should acknowledge that I have never before been to anything like this. And a few days later, I don't know exactly how I feel about "the show." I will tell you that all three of my children totally got into it. Seeing Kelsi...little, meek, docile Kelsi...booing with both thumbs down was shocking and just a little concerning to me. They had a hoot of a time. And to their credit, the wrestlers did an effective job of captivating the crowd and delivering a gospel presentation that connected. More than twenty people signaled a response to the invitation.
Now, for the entertaining part.
The "legend" of the CWF, Tim Storm, is a member of our church. Unfortunately, Tim came out at the start of the evening in a large leg brace, hobbling in on crutches. Despite his long-held desire to wrestle in front of his home church, he was on the Physically Unable to Perform list. Because it was his home church, though, he called out a threesome of adversaries to ask them to "play nice." The threesome responded by kicking his crutches out from under him and beating him mercilessly with them. Especially relentless was this behemoth of a masked baddy named Golgotha.
When Tim's allies interceded the scheduled matches were underway. I don't remember the names of all the other matches , but I do recall a Hillbilly duo going up against Golgotha again. And this masked giant proceeded to throw and otherwise harm this backwoods boys asunder with malicious intent. However, the CWF champion Angel sprung to their deliverance. And in rescuing them, he challenged Golgotha that they would finish the evening with a match, and if Angel won, Golgotha's mask would be removed. The long mystery of Golgotha's identity would be revealed.
Said match eventually took place. And since I don't know any wrestling terminology, let me cut to the quick and tell you that Angel vanquished Golgotha. In the night's highest drama, his masked was removed, revealing...
...yes, you guessed it...
Tim Storm.
The gasp in the audience was audible.
As if on cue.
So...now dissolve scene and cut to the ride home where Cotter and Daddy are discussing the night and son begins to "put together the pieces."
Cotter: But Mr. Tim was in crutches and Golgotha was there too.
Me: That's right. They pulled the ol' Switcheroo on you.
Cotter: Huh?
Me: They had someone else be Golgotha while Tim acted hurt.
Cotter: OHHHH! (thinking) Who was Golgotha then?
Me: I don't know. They needed someone about his size.
Cotter: Daddy?
Me: Yes?
Cotter: Just where were you when all this was going on?
Annnnd...SCENE.
I have to tell you that I relished the thought of my son thinking I moonlighted as a CWF wrestler, despite that Tim Storm has a few inches and more than a few pounds on this Minister of Education. So I played coy the rest of the way home. I had Cotter worked into a five-iron frenzy at the possibility that I bashed faces off the turnbuckle, without ever really saying as much. Cotter ran inside the house and immediately began cross-examining the rest of the family about my whereabouts during the evening.
Finally, Kaylyn...my sweet, sage oldest child....ended the speculation with this...
Kaylyn: Cotter, Daddy was not Golgotha. He would never wear tight shorts like that.
The argument was undeniable and my ruse was deflated. Which would have been fine. Except then, Cotter now saw all the holes in his flimsy logic, and then spent the rest of the evening declaring aloud all the reasons why I couldn't have been Golgotha.
"I guess Daddy's arms aren't as big as Golgotha's."
"Daddy really doesn't know how to box."
"Daddy probably couldn't pick up another guy over his head like that."
"Daddy needs his glasses, and they wouldn't fit under a mask."
Ahhh...the screw was turned. What began as an escapade of manipulation and tomfoolery at my boy's expense quickly devolved into me defending my history as a former tough guy who never lost a fight* but has now chosen a more gentle way through my faith in Christ.
*This statement is technically accurate, since family fights with older brothers do not count in an overall won/loss percentage. Nor do "cheap shots" when sixth-grade classmate Nicole kicked me in the groin for telling everyone I saw her french kiss her dog, thus dropping me in a breath-taking surprise. Oh, and thank you Scott, in high school, for not calling my bluff when you were bullying me, the freshman, for walking down "your" hallway, and I stood up to you. Not only did you allow me to keep my teeth by backing down when I showed my now-revealed-to-be-false bravado, but it also kept my fight club record pristine.