I had resigned myself to being childless after I was deemed “Disabled”.

Had resigned myself that I would never get married.

I’m just going to live in shitty poverty for the rest of my life because I’ll never be able to “provide” for a family.

And now my worst fears are happening.

A baby is on its way.

And I’m not married,
have no job,
and get $600 a month
to live on
which ends up being
$100 to live on.

How the fuck am I going to be a father?!?

Another deep fear I have is that I am a person who is disabled… with mental fucking illness.

And some of what I suffer from is hereditary!

I probably shouldn’t be having kids and spreading inheritable diseases to children who never asked to be born with fucked-up brains.

As well, at least half of the people I know across the totality of my life are Fucking Evangelicals™ and the fact that I am having a child out-of-wedlock is going to bring about the tsk-tsking from hell.

The “I’m pregnant” announcement spirals me into a terrible mental health state.

All my !!!ANXIETY!!! and OBSSSESSISSVEE COMSSPULSSIVE DISSORSSDESSR and

major depression

are going to greet this life-changing information by taking turns pummeling my twerking brain lobes.

And I will spiral into a mental health crisis.

And since I’m on Medicare… and no therapists in my area took Medicare (without a 17 year wait)… where do I go for sound advice from a collection of people who have had families?

Remember when I said:

People raised in the Church
Flock back to the Church
When shit hits the fan?

At the start of 2003, after hearing “we’re having a baby” I’m on the edge of losing my goddamn mind– I was not as enthused as perhaps I should have been.

A great regret of my life is that the news of pregnancy was always greeted with absolute terror and fear and a solid 8 month long panic attack that peaks on delivery day. I don’t enjoy the months of preparation of a baby coming into our lives. Instead, my medical anxiety and OCD manage to worry endlessly about every possible thing that could go wrong.

what if my kid is born with a vestigial tail?

what if their heart has a hole in it

what if they have 6 fingers on each hand… or a club foot?

What if they’re horribly disfigured
or have a severe disability
that I’m unable to handle
because of
my
health problems?

what if they’re born covered in hair?

what if they have no hair?

what if they have hair…

but only from the neck down?

I don’t have the luxury of having the kind of brain that expects the best to happen.

And the reason for that…

*gestures broadly at pile of Broken Mirror pieces*…

I’ve had some practice with the worst possible thing happening.

And I’m feeling like God Almighty™ has Cursed™ me.

AND DID I MENTION THAT IT’S A FOREGONE CONCLUSION THAT I WILL BE THE STAY-AT-HOME PARENT?

And I have chronic back pain
and
can’t
lift
a
thing?

And I’m severely mentally ill and depressed about my whole life and maybe having somebody like me raise a kid– I’m gonna fuck this up.

I am not someone who should raise a kid.

It’s in this cauldron of turmoil that I make the fateful decision offered by another friend in Tweekside™.

This friend is my Fucking Evangelical™ friend in the neighborhood.

Our religious history providing a base for a budding friendship, much like discrimination provided the base for my friendship with Blue.

At this phase of my life I swing back towards The Church™.

Because I’m terrified.

Everyone says it costs hundreds of thousands of dollars to raise a kid over its lifetime.

I get $100 a month to play with.

And yes, my partner is working and brings home enough to cover the rest of our needs,

but
we
live
in

Constant Struggle™.

It’s gonna take a miracle to help us out.

And
Where
Do
You
Go
For
Miracles?

Hey look at that… there’s a local Calvary Chapel nearby.

I go Back to The Church™

(insert chorale music of worship that slowly morphs into ominous theme music)

Since I was raised in The Church™… and since Shit Has Hit the Fan… I do what so many generations of humans who were indoctrinated into a system from birth do.

I go back to church because my life is spiraling out of control and there’s no therapy available.

And at first…

The Church™ is an instantly welcoming and familiar environment. Granted, a Calvary Chapel is waaaaaay more conservative than the neighborhood church I had grown up in… but the rhythms and themes and language is stuff I’ve been familiar with my whole life.

Maybe I don’t know the current worship songs they’re singing because I dipped out of the CCM market 9 years earlier… but this is a familiar place. This is where people come when their lives need God Almighty™ to help them.

And an interesting thing happens after a few weeks when people start to get to know me and inviting me to all the Men’s Groups and Bible Studies and Sunday Mornings and Men’s Retreats… man, there’s so much to do in this environment.

I forgot how busy being in The Church™ makes you and how much of your bandwidth and life that it sucks out of you.

But when you’re terrified and nobody in your life will help you with a problem of Extraordinary Difficulty, and here’s a group of people offering “love” and promises that they’ll give you prayer and petition God Almighty™ on your behalf– maybe he doesn’t listen or talk to me but maybe if I’m near those who he talks and listens to maybe they can advocate for me (does this sound healthy, btw?).

And eventually… I let folk know what the issue is that I’m terrified of:

I’m disabled and about to be a father
with no money
and no career
and no opportunities
and no real help coming.

It’s another form of
everything is awful
and nobody is coming to help.
Which makes me start thinking
of singular shitty options again.

And you would think on the surface that this is the prime situation for a church community to help a poor soul like me…

but there’s a problem.

The expectant Mother and Father are not united in Holy Matrimony™ because my disability situation and mental illness situation have sorta made the option of marriage far, faaaaaar more complicated.

And to this Pro-Life crowd that pretends to care about fetuses more than anything…

guess which matters to them more:

The fetus?

Or our marital status?

And over the next few months that I try to ingratiate myself into the Church™ community where absolutely nobody is turned away…

I find myself
being hounded
and pressured
and pestered
at every
single
bible study,
Sunday worship session,
Men’s retreat,
car wash,
ball game,
etc

“We could marry you right now! Just hop into my office and we can have a quick marriage ceremony and then you’ll be united for eternity.”

“What if she doesn’t want to be united
forever in eternity
with a disabled guy
who can’t provide
for her or her kid?

How about we just make sure
the kid is healthy
and provided for
first?
And worry about the marriage later?

My focus is on the kid.

Isn’t that what you all care about more than anything?“

Narrator:
No. That is not what christians actually care about at all.

Oh the tsk-tsking.

And I mean… my god the tsk-tsking.

I would realize in my final stint in a White Evangelical Church that perhaps their concerns had nothing whatsoever to do with babies and the teachings of Christ. What matters to them more than anything are appearances. It’s about the visuals.

Being in a Committed Relationship is minor league.

If you want to be a Real Christian™
you have to be married.

Now, I already knew this.

I knew that walking into a church, unwed, with a baby on its way would make veins bulge and eyeballs pop. But I really hoped that there was some merit to the idea of Pro-Life.

All you motherfuckers do is howl about babies and how every single life is precious as fuck.

Right ?™

A core element I want my readers to start paying attention to as we progress in the story
and as you live your life in your real worlds
is I want people to start watching the difference between:

What Fucking Evangelicals™ SAY

vs.

What Fucking Evangelicals™ DO

Like when Fucking Evangelicals™ SAY they possess a peace that passes all understanding because the Holy Spirit dwells inside them…

But what they DO is lose their fucking minds when they watch the olympics because they think everything is a conspiracy against them.

Because these 2 things are NOT the same. What Fucking Evangelicals™ SAY they do is love every human and every baby.

But DO they?

Does their behavior match their words?

And what I will find is that the very first thing that Fucking Evangelicals™ actually DO when you tell them you and your LifePartner™/FutureSpouse™/TheOne™ are expecting a baby is that they without fail immediately start tsk-tsking and drawing in a sharp breath of judgment
and they make

this face

😬

and this face

😳

and this face

🤨

and of course
The All-Time Classic
Still Face™

😐

“That’s what happens when you live together in. sin.”

The barely contained glee they have in declaring that you fucked up. They relish this. They genuinely love having the opportunity to tsk-tsk you and tell you that “Living-in-Sin” and your Bad Life Choices™ have led to this moment of pain and panic in your life.

THEY LOVE THIS.

They get that shit-eating smile like SmugMan™ did when he gets to strut and declare everyone sinners.

Every single Fucking Evangelical™ in my life did this to me when they found out I was gonna have a kid and I wasn’t married.

NOT A SINGLE FUCKER™ CARED ABOUT THE BABY.

Not once.

Not one fucking time was their first thought,

“How’s the mother doing?”

Not one fucking time was their first thought,

“Is the baby healthy?”

“Ultrasound’s good?”

“Do you need a crib?”

“Need diapers?”

“Is she getting her prenatal vitamins?“

Not one fucking time was their first action to lead with anything other than judgment and gleefully pointing out that if you live with someone and have sex with them and you both have the biology capable of producing humans that there’s a likelihood that a child will appear in this scenario.

And they kinda are enjoying pointing this out to me

again

and again

and again

and again.

And now I’m starting to understand for the first time in my life what single mothers have had to suffer through in these environments for millennia. These people will act as though you have sinned against them because you got pregnant.

The clucking of tongues.

The tsk-tsking.

The gleam in their eye as they feel empowered to lecture you for your bad life choices™.

And this goes on for months.

I’m worried about the baby
and my poverty
due to my
disability.

All they care about
is my
marital status.
They don’t
give a shit
about the baby.

And my mind is blown.

I knew how The Church treated unmarried couples… like I get it. And having been shunned from these spaces for my mental health– which btw I can’t tell anyone that I’m mentally ill in this building or they’ll shun me right out which they’re kinda doing anyway because I won’t play along with their demands of forcing me to be married.

The closer the day gets to a baby being born, the more intense the scrutiny and pressure to just grab my partner and go into the pastor’s office– seriously it will only take 10 minutes, why am I being so obstinate?

“DO YOU WANT YOUR KID TO BE A BASTARD?”

And there it was.

That’s what this was really about.

They view my kid as a bastard.

And some of you assholes reading this will say,
“Well, technically,
your kid
was
a bastard.”

And I will say,
“Is this 1582
where my future estate
will be handed down
to my heirs
and a bastard
has no legal claim
to my
wealth
and power?”

No other person in any circle of my life dared to call my unborn kid a bastard except for the Fucking Evangelicals™.

And that was all they saw my kid as being.

That if I refused their offers of matrimonial imposition… then my kid didn’t count in their world. No other group of people was calling my kid a bastard. That’s not even a concept any modern person gives a shit about in the 21st Century AD.

But here…
the worshippers of God Almighty™…
the Moral Arbiters of our society who get to proclaim presidents immoral for affairs…
who howl about every slippage of human morality eroding our ability to be close to the god who allows all this stuff to happen…

It’s Christians who are calling my kid a bastard.

These pro-life lovers of babies.

And one day the thought occurs to me, “Maybe I don’t want to be around people who can look at a newborn and declare it a bastard that they will not love unless my partner and I bow to their rules”

And all you Church-goers are thinking, “well, a church has the right to set its boundaries and we can’t allow sin into our House of Holy Worship”

But they pick and choose which sins to pay attention to, don’t they?

How many gluttons are in your church this Sunday?

You wanna see obese people at potlucks gobbling from paper plates stacked so high they bend and need two hands to carry?

Do they get tsk-tsked?

How many bankers
who charge interest
are in your pews?

How many landlords
who drive up rental prices
on their poor tenants
sing with you on Sunday?

How many child abusers
proudly display
their quiverfulls
of children
every Sunday
like the Von Trapps?

How many
divorced folk
get a blind eye
turned away from
their sinful lifestyles?

Isn’t it interesting how The Church™ has no problem with many, many sins in their HolyHousesofHypocrisy?

Isn’t this the group that proclaims to follow the teachings of the red words:

Judge not lest ye be judged

But a baby born into a loving relationship that has not been affirmed by a piece of paper or had a priest perform a prayer with gold rings over us,
that baby will be considered…

*check notes*…

a bastard.

No other group of people pre-judged my kid like this.

No other group of humans
offered condemnation
when I had outstretched
my hands
in desperation.

I had come to them because I was programmed to believe since infancy that this is the place that has your back. The Church™ is there for you. This was what had been ingrained in me.

And just like with my mental illness issues a decade earlier… love is not what I’m getting here.

Judgement.
Condemnation.
Blame.
Disapproval.
Tsk fucking Tsk.

And a thought becomes formed in me for the first time in my life, “this is a group of people declaring something is a problem that no other group of people thinks is a problem… and their solution is that you need to do everything they tell you to do or else you will be punished by them.”

In any other group of people if someone said there was a problem– that nobody thought was a problem– and that only they held the solution to that problem that they are calling out and identifying– that person would be viewed with great skepticism.

Con artists do that.

Cults do that.

Manipulative
and
abusive
people do that.

Snake-oil Salesmen do that…

sell you a specially-crafted tonics for the Vapors™.

They identify problems
you didn’t know you had
because they weren’t problems
UNTIL
they pointed them out.

It also really irked this church that I was “disabled” but not visibly so. I was pressured intensely to put my trust in the Lord and go get a Real Job™.

Because this Church didn’t want to offer me any help with my disability.

And I will realize a core behavior of the Fucking Evangelicals™…

they don’t help you for shit.

If you need help,
their first thought is
“Are you a sinner?”

And if you are… they won’t help you.

But if you leave their group without them shunning you…

Oh, let’s say you have started deconstructing and you feel like maybe not spending every spare moment at your church anymore…

Then they’ll tell you: they’re just a collection of Sinners™ who aren’t perfect and that you can’t fault them for any harms they may have caused you.

So they’ll use their SinnerStatus™
to get themselves Off the Hook…

but they use your SinnerStatus™
to avoid helping you
unlike Jesus
demanded they do.

“Can’t help you because you’re living in sin and made bad life choices,”

they say
as they shovel
another
10,000 calories
of potato salad
and pecan pie
on that
high-piled
potluck
plate.

I’m gobsmacked at this moment in my life:

Christians Fucking Evangelicals™
are not there for you.

And when somebody needs charity—
actually
desperately
NEEDS it–
that charity is never to be found.

For years I couldn’t understand how a group of worshippers across an entire religion all behave this way despite their declarations of how noble their hearts are and how they give more charity than any other group of people in the whole history of the world…

But a funny thing about that Christian Charity™.

What it says it does…

That’s not what it actually does.

And what that Christian Charity™

ACTUALLY DOES

is to claim to be the charity

demanding that you give tirelessly

to their nonprofit.

And they howl at how the world does not recognize their charity
and their need
for endless concessions
from paying taxes,
or inability to pay fair wages,
or refusing giving back
to The Least of These™
like Jesus
commanded them
to do.

They behave as though THEY are the charity that the rest of us need to give handouts to.

This is how Fucking Evangelicals™ actively behave.

Like FOTF refusing to give residuals to their cast. FOTF believes THEY are the charity and the artists shouldn’t be greedy in asking a poor, noble organization that only raises $100 million a year…

They claim that they shouldn’t have to pay taxes so that they can use every available cent in their coffers to do the Lord’s Work™.

And what is that work?

Helping the poor?

The dispossessed?

The homeless?

The disabled?

The single mother?

The widow?

Because whenever those groups come for help they are quickly told that there’s no help for you here– maybe if your problem isn’t a ShunWorthy™ problem you might get a collection plate passed for you precisely one time— but helping the Least of These™?

And I’m realizing
that this group of HolyWarriors™
calling my unborn child a bastard
is
also
a group of people
refusing
to lift a finger
to help my poverty
due to disability.

They are literally telling me to pick myself up by my bootstraps and trust in the Lord specifically so they DON’T have to help me.

But, hey… while they’re not helping me it would be really awesome if I donated to them so they can keep the lights on and the pastor can get his weekly stipend.

The Church™ is expen$ive to keep running, after all.

Who.. is… the charity for… in Christian Charity™?

For the Least of These™?

Or for The Christ Followers™?

After 5-6 months of trying to get back into God Almighty™’s good graces so that perhaps my life will stop sucking,
I realize that hanging out with people
who think newborns
are bastards from birth
and doomed to hell
unless raised in
The Church™…

I decide that maybe hanging out with Crips is the better option.

You wanna know what The Crips™ say when I told them a baby was coming?

“Fucking Congrats!”

“How’s your fucking lady doing?”

“You got a fucking crib?”

“You need some fucking diapers?”

“My fucking cousin
is getting rid
of some shit
you could use
cuz his fucking kid
outgrew it.”

“Hey man, don’t fucking worry about not having any fucking money… fucking kids don’t actually need much but Love and You.”

“We got your fucking back, my n****!”

“Is she taking her fucking prenatal fucking vitamins?”

Wanna know who drove me to the hospital for kid #2’s birth?

The scariest gangsta a terrified white person ever saw.

Blue.

Gangsters loved my family and had more charity for me than the Fucking Evangelicals™ ever did.

When The Crips™ are more charitable than the Fucking Evangelicals™ we have a new understanding of the world.

And another thought will occur to me
as I left the flock
for the final time
in my life:

“Am I the one leaving?
Is this my exodus out of this system?
Or did this system leave me?
Did these people abandon me in their quest for handouts?
Their narcissism
that they need the donations
from people like me
and that The Least of These™
couldn’t be helped
by them?
Am I leaving them?
Or did they leave me?”

A seed of suspicion that was planted in my soul in 1993 is watered and fertilized in 2003.

Whose exodus am I lamenting?

My exodus?

or theirs?

Wanna know how Fucking FOTF/AIO treated the news of my impending fatherhood?

6 months back in The Church™ did not heal my brain, my back, my bank account, or my budding paranoia that I was gonna fuck up a newborn.

Since my experience in that realm was less than optimal, I’m still in a state where I’m looking for some mentorship or some patient love that everything will be okay.

And I ask FutureSpouse™ and current BastardGestator™ in month 7 if I can take a long trip to clear my head before the baby arrives.

My main goal was to visit my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents who all had kids and see if maybe my fears were unwarranted. Since The Church™ has shunned me again, let’s go visit family.

And FutureSpouse™ allows this untimely request, much to the derision of her parents who think I’m a total disaster and they are not at all happy that I’ve knocked up their daughter and am now going on a “vacation”.

I want to be clear I would have never taken this trip if The One™ said “no”.

However, we both knew my PanicDisorder/OCD/MDD issues needed to be sorted out and my lovely partner understood how I was wired and gives me the
green
light.

All of my family lives on the East Coast/The South/Michigan. Which means that I will be driving through Colorado to get to see them and ask questions about babies and be reassured that I’ll be fine.

Colorado.

hey look at that…

that’s where FOTF headquarters is

and I heard that they built an AIO attraction

where they built a mockup of Whit’s End

complete with soda fountain

where people can order WodFamChocSods

(without the Vod)

and they can runaround in costumes of the characters

and get to record Audio Theater scenes

with foley SFX

that can be recorded (for a small fee)

and you can get a CD of your scene!

I’d heard about this place for years.

And here was my opportunity to go check it out!

This is the story of:

The
Strangest
Day
of
My
Life

My route was going to take me through Denver and that was where Fan#001 lived. And I reached out to her to see if she might want to accompany me to the FOTF campus– and figuring she had better connections to folk there than I did.

And she was a gracious host who put me up for a couple nights so I could see for myself what the AIO team had built.

Another consideration that took me many years to sort out in my head, was that one of the reasons I went to FOTF was also because I still viewed these people as… *checks notes*… family.

And if I’m going on a cross-country trip to visit family for support, the team at AIO has always said that we were family. And I believed it. For many, many years. And so in my desperation and needing voices of support, I figure seeing the ole gang again would be helpful.

Heck, I remember when most of them had their kids.

Perhaps I should have called first, but if I had I would’ve been told that that particular day was not a good day to arrive to the campus in Colorado Springs, CO.

But, I was on a tight schedule and I was going to the campus whether there was someone I knew there or not. This is probably the only chance I will have to visit because once the kid is born, my broke ass will never get to travel ever again. (that actually turns out to be truer than I realized)

Fan#001 and I drive down from Denver to The Springs™.

We drive onto the very expen$ive campus that houses FOTF.

We immediately make our way to the AIO Department.

And I inquire about whether any HeadWriters™ or ExecProducers™ are about because I’m in town for the afternoon and would love to say hi and give a quick hug to these people I love so much.

We are told… “uh.. well… they’re not here right now and I can’t tell you why. But come back later and they should be here”

Okaaaaay. That was a little weird.

Well, whatever…. let’s go see Whit’s End!

I’m excited. I’ve waited a decade to see what the creative team came up with in this attraction. Would their vision of the parts and pieces of Whit’s End match mine? Or will I see a vision I never imagined?

I’m nervous. My palms are sweaty and my mouth is dry.

It’s 2003… 16 years since I first recorded Episode 002.

This is not the cheesy little slide show in the hallway in the Pomona facility.

Nope.

There’s big money behind this now and as I enter the area of the campus designated for Adventures in Odyssey™ and is the prime reason families will plan to visit this campus during summer family vacations (and $pend thou$and$ at the book $tore)… my jaw hits the floor.

The size and scale and scope of what FOTF has created as a literal tourist trap astonishes me.

And the very first memory I have is being in the main room where the KYDS radio station is…

and I see a little kid run across the room…

*checks notes*…

wearing a Jimmy Barclay costume that they have available for kids to try on.

And this is the first moment in my life– AFTER 16 YEARS— where I finally realize how popular the Jimmy Barclay character actually was.

“Be careful you don’t run into anybody, Jimmy!“

The parents of the 5 year old wearing the L’ilJimmyBoy™ costume laugh.

And when they say “Jimmy” a dozen other people go: “Jimmaaaaay!!!”

Everybody in the room looks at the kid in the JimmyCostume™ and laughs.

They don’t notice that when they called out the name “Jimmy” that the strange man with a black t-shirt and ponytail standing next to them that just snapped his head around to look quizzically at them actually IS the actor that played the character their kid is now larping.

I’m shook.

Nobody ever bothered to tell me this character was beloved like this.

Wonder why? Gosh golly geewillikers why didn’t they ever tell the kid actor with the naive parents afraid of Hollyweird™ that their kid helped build a media empire that generations of kids would adore.

No wonder they cock-blocked my efforts to get an agent or manager. I might have renegotiated my shitty pay to get a better piece of the economic value my performances created for this media machine since these Holy Christians™ aren’t sharing any of the ble$$ing$ that are trickling down.

For a good 30 minutes I wander around the Whit’s End space with absolutely nobody knowing who I am. I’m completely anonymous. Which is how I’ve been every single day of my life. My shattered ego– it doesn’t even occur to me to try to strut as Jimmy and get some attention.

I do not shout, “HEY EVERYBODY I’M JIMMY!!!”

Which is what an egotist or someone who is actually a narcissist might do in that situation.

Instead I’m quietly soaking in the experience as a 26 year old dude hanging out with Fan#001 and am blown away at the amount of money that’s gone into this thing and the number of people who clearly know about my character.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” Fan#001 says sheepishly.

Anything for you Fan#001.

Anything.

You have gifted me this moment where I finally am tasting– for the first time in my life– the effect I had.

“Can we record a scene together in the KYDS radio attraction?”

She says it like she doesn’t realize this is my favorite thing to do ever.

“It would be a dream come true to get to record with Jimmy.”

Built into the storylines of Adventures in Odyssey is that Mr Whittaker has built a kid’s radio station in Whit’s End so that kids can come and learn how to proselytize over the airwaves just like the adults get to do. This radio station is called KYDS Radio.

And it is one of the main attractions here at the FOTF campus. For a modest fee that covers the costs of recording, you and a couple friends (or 12 siblings) can enter a sound studio and take your place behind one of the two microphones OR you can slide into the 3rd spot where you have a tray of materials where you can make foley sound effects, like walking on sand or putting a coat on.

And this is a great way for kids to get to try out voice over as an art form.

It’s a really cool thing they built.

And there’s no way you’re gonna build a sound studio called KYDS radio when I have appeared in episodes where my character uses KYDS radio for various subplots.

And Fan#001 wants to record with me?!?
Fuck yeah!!!
No way I’m not doing this.

She goes up to the person running the attraction– who she knew from her time at campus as an AIO intern– and whispers something.
The person nods.
We get the thumbs-up to record.

And that’s how I find myself in the comfortable position of staring down at a script that looks so very familiar after 16 years.

It’s a simple 2 person scene with basic foley. A perfect introduction to the art of Audio theater for young kids (and adults).

Fan#001 is geeking the fuck out.

I’m geeking the fuck out.

And I can tell whoever is in the recording booth is also geeking the fuck out.

The one thing that makes this studio different from any I ever performed in is that the big soundproof glass window does NOT look into the recording booth where the engineers and the Reel-to-Reel Machine of Dwindling Time3000™ should exist– but doesn’t because this is 2003 and we’re in the digital era now.

Instead, the giant soundproof window overlooks the main room we were just in where the little 5 year old kid in the L’ilJimmyBoy™ costume and his family are laughing at his antics.

I have the kind of permanently shattered ego where it doesn’t occur to me that anything special is happening.

I honestly think I was more geeked out to record a single scene than Fan#001 was and she was shining like a beam of light– smiling from ear to ear and she kept talking about how nervous she was. It was the cutest thing of all time.

Both of us giddy AF.

The mysterious person in the sound booth gives us the “aaaaaand action!” cue and we start performing our generic lines of Scenetasticness.

And she’s having a blast.

And I’m having a blast.

And I notice out of the corner of my eye that suddenly a face has appeared in the giant soundproofed window watching us perform.

And then another face.

And another face.

And another face.

And suddenly the giant soundproof glass has dozens of faces crammed against each other fighting to see what’s happening in the booth we’re in.

Soon, all I see is faces and it seems like everyone in the main room has stopped what they were doing as has come to press their faces against the glass.

And me being a dumbass with zero ego.

My thought is that this is a normal occurrence whenever anybody records.

I literally think to myself, “Oh they must be pumping our audio into the main room and they’re excited to see someone recording live.”

*dave stares at camera*

It.
Does.
Not.
Occur.
To.
Me.
That.
Everyone.
In.
That.
Room.
Knows.
My.
Voice.

Why would it?

I’ve never experienced BeingFamous™ for even one second in my life except for meeting Fan#001 at the 500th episode.

We get done with recording and she had a great time, and I had a great time, and all the little heads that had filled the soundproofed window have left– which makes sense we’re done recording– and I assume everyone has gone about their afternoon to laugh at the 5 year old L’ilJimmyLarper™.

Fan#001 and I head for the exit of KYDS Radio.

I’m closest to the door so I’m the one that opens it.

And just like Dorothy opening the door after the tornado has picked up her home and dropped it in Oz…

and she moves from the world of black-and-white to the world of Technicolor™…

So, too, does L’ilDaveyBoyMan™ open a door and have his life instantaneously changed.

The hallway is PACKED.

I can’t even get out of the room.

As the door swings open I hear multiple people breathlessly whisper, “It’s Jimmy!!”

And the crowd pushes towards me wanting to meet me.

And for the next hour of my life I’m BeingFamous™.

For the first time in my life.

After 16 years of waiting, begging, praying that some day an actor would get to meet his fans… this was the day it finally happened.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. The way that everyone wants your time. With love. It’s unreal to be love-bombed by every single person in a space that was ignoring you 10 minutes earlier.

The kids were adorable, “you don’t look like Jimmy.”

The adults, though… the adults understood the magnitude and rarity of what they were experiencing.

ONE OF THE ACTORS IS HERE IN REAL LIFE ON A TUESDAY.

AND. IT’S. JIMMY.

I am bombarded with a love I have never before experienced– only imagined for 16 years in my room rewinding tapes none of the people in my life ever cared about.

And one of the first things I notice about BeingFamous™ is that I’m spending quite a lot of this time doing my best to make the people meeting me feel at ease.

Like they suddenly got nervous AF. Grown men stuttering because their minds have gone blank– all the times they thought to themselves, “If I ever got to meet an actor what would I ask” and now the opportunity is right in their face and their mind goes blank from the stress and pressure of the moment.

And since I’m not impressed with me one iota, I have to spend a lot of the time in these encounters reassuring people who are so nervous they look like they want to throw up… they’re anxious that they’re making a fool of themselves in front of me. They’re embarrassed that they keep stammering and reaching out to touch me reflexively. Their eyes glisten as the pupils dilate all the way open– it’s a physiological reaction I experience often when fans meet me I call it SparkleEyes™– and they tear up and literally the light reflects in their eyes and makes them glisten and shine.

And people want to take pictures. And give hugs. I’m experiencing for the first the profound emotional bond that the audience has to this material.

Full grown adults are getting teary– that nervous I’m-about-to-cry sound in their throats– in trying to explain to me what this show means to them.

One man, when he hears I’m headed to Dallas, Texas for a family reunion later in the week begs me to stop by his church so I can see what they built for their kid’s Youth Group area. Promises are given, “I will go. I promise!”

It was the most overwhelming experience of my life.

I had waited 16. fuck. ing. years. for some kind of fan interaction.

And here it finally was in a manner and time I wasn’t prepared for.

BTW….Consider how bizarre it is that one of the main kid actors goes to FOTF and goes to the Whit’s End area and literally doesn’t think anyone will notice?

Why would I think that?

How deprived of the Love I had earned, was I?

How neglected was my soul to that love I had sought for 16 fucking years?

It is the headiest, most ego pumping experience of all time. I can see how intoxicating it is. How easily you could think you were a god the way people treat you like one. Venerate you. Pedestal you. They immediately put themselves in a supplicant position to you. I didn’t even have to ask for that kind of power.

Grown adults just handed it to me free of charge.

Soon, I become overwhelmed and exhausted.

One thing about BeingFamous™ you never consider is how emotionally draining it is. It’s so much dopamine/oxytocin/seratonin flooding into your brain and it literally fries the wiring. And weirdly, I find myself exerting a lot of emotional labor in trying to make all the adults who are geeking out on me… like I’m expending a tremendous amount of energy making them feel better about acting weird around me or when their brain short-circuits and they stammer trying to think of a question to ask and you the actor have to now perform for them to kill time… I’m finding myself in performance mode the entire time.

I can see how annoying this would get in a restaurant when you just want to eat.

But, at this moment in time… this is the moment I have dreamed for all those years. That I would find myself surrounded by fans who loved my acting.

That I would finally get to meet my audience.

And. It. Was. The. Greatest. Feeling. Of. All. Time.

My head is swimming as we wander back up to the AIO Department.

We inquire about HeadWriters™ and ExecProducers™.

We are told they are still busy.

There are hushed tones.

And the person telling us this is getting antsy because they know we have to be leaving soon and they want us to see who we came here to see but they can’t say anything– they were sworn to secrecy.

Fine. We’ll get lunch and come back.

After lunch I’m still floating… how my heart and soul and artist’s blood had needed this simple exchange with people who appreciated what I did.

We return to AIO.

SpecialPeople™ are StillMysteriouslyUnavailable™.

Fan#001 and I are getting antsy. The drive back to Denver would be better if it’s not in heavy traffic and the day is nearing an end.

Finally the truth is told to us in hushed tones in the hopes we’ll stick it out:

Mel Gibson is on campus
and he’s screening
The Passion of the Christ
and HeadWriter™
and ExecProd™
are in that session
providing him critique on his film
and providing him with strategies
of how to reach
the Fucking Evangelical™ audience
to see his movie.

And this is how, after waiting several more hours as word started leaking out that Mel was here and people start assembling outside the door they are screening the film in. And I find myself waiting with them– they want to see Mel– I want to see my CreativeTeamMembers.

Mel was polite as I shook his hand but I mostly brushed past him to give a big hug to the people I had come to see.

Sorry, Mel.

It’s suggested we all head back to Whit’s End for a beverage to chew the fat and have a moment or two of catching up.

And there I find myself sitting with a HeadWriter™ and an ExecProd™ and I’m beaming that I just experienced BeingFamous™ for the first time in my life…

… and they’re completely, entirely distracted because this film Mel made has completely shattered their brains. And they can’t stop talking about it. And my being there is kinda annoying because they just want to talk about the amazing spiritual experience they just had watching this film that is gonna annihilate the box office.

Later in the year, all the media pundits will be shocked as this film smashes box office records without being marketed in a traditional way. Especially after the film gets criticisms of being anti-semitic and the Industry isn’t interested in marketing it.

And so when the box office records are smashed… I know why.

And years later, when Trump and MAGA and The Fucking Evangelicals™ take over our politics, people wring their hands in shock wondering where did these Fucking Evangelicals™ come from?

And the box office performance of The Passion of The Christ is one of the first mainstream events that shows the silent force of humanity right under our noses.

The success of Passion of the Christ was MAGA in action.

They just don’t self-identify that way yet.

But it’s here in this conversation, with 2 distracted ProductionUncles™ that I offhandedly admit why I’m on this massive trip around the country:

FutureSpouse™ and L’ilDaveyMan™ are going to become parents.

And I’m freaked out because I’m disabled and have no money.

This conversation is happening in a multi-million dollar Theme Park Attraction that my exploited child labor helped create with costumes of my character literally hanging on the wall over there while I was paid peanuts and gaslit that I had no fans.

And my conversation partners whose minds have just been blown by Mel Gibson (so many unique and interesting sentences I’m writing in this blogject) are now making faces like

this face

😬

and this face

😳

and this face

🤨

and of course
The All-Time Classic
Still Face™

😐

Some tsk-tsking occurs.

Some gentle sad, disapproving head shaking.

The sharp intake of disappointed breath.

I’m used to this by now.

Suddenly this conversation is feeling like being back in the studio with my smoking problems that people will write books about.

Eventually, Fan#001 and I leave and head back up to Denver, me still glowing about BeingFamous™ and the weirdness of meeting Mel Gibson and the shame I’m feeling with the disapproval of the HeadWriter™ and ExecProd™ who– while they were polite– were not really that enthused to see me.

2 weeks later.

As I’m continuing my journey around ‘Merica meeting family, I get a call.

It’s Focus.

We want you again.

And that is how months later I will find myself in the studio staring at 2 scripts that have been specially written for me after all these years.

Plan B and the 500th Episode didn’t really count in the canon of BeingJimmy™.

And the 2 scripts I’m looking at?

Adventures in Odyssey: Episode #535- Living in The Gray, Pt 1

Adventures in Odyssey: Episode #536- Living in the Gray, Pt 2

*** need to write better description of this episode so readers who don’t know show will understand why the subject matter was such a departure from the typical Jimmy character***

I’m in shock as I read the script.

Jimmy is a tabloid photographer?

That’s about as low as you can be in the Fucking Evangelical™ world. That’s like being a drug dealer or other Lost Soul behavior that Prodigals do.

They’re making Jimmy, the kid who wanted to be a preacher and a paramedic, into one of the worst professions in the Fucking Evangelical™ psyche.

And Jimmy has a live-in girlfriend who’s an alcoholic.

And the entire episode is about how Jimmy has betrayed his upbringing.

And the final scene is a throwback to the episode Prodigal Jimmy where George and Jimmy have a father-son bonding moment where George mentions “did you spend all your money on zapazoids again? lol”

I’m utterly shook and infuriated.

You bastards.

This is about me and my new baby that was just born.

This is about me “living in sin”.

This is their way of tsk-tsking me and using my sins in the weekly sermon.

I’m heartbroken that they’re doing this to this character I loved for so many years (16 years in case you all needed to be reminded).

This?!? is how the greatest kid’s character of all time is going to have their story end?

Because the actor had a child out of wedlock?

I got the feeling then, and I hold onto that feeling 20 years later, that I believe they were trying to alienate the character of Jimmy in the minds of the fans. I believe this is their effort to make Jimmy less popular so they don’t have to ask questions about why the actor kid’s life went so off the rails and he’s having BastardBabies™ with his WhorePartner™.

Maybe that’s not the case, but now knowing that they had written and sold a book called Point of No Return and now the final chapter of L’ilBarclayBoy™ is called Living in The Gray.

And they’re using the Prodigal Son as the core of their narrative again.

That literally is the gimmick used and echoed in the script dialogue.

And the writer of that book was one of the Production Uncles I met that day and told about my impending fetal life that is so sacred the whole organization spends millions on propaganda convincing people to not have abortions.

But my unwed baby provided them with inspiration!

Remember how I said all the way back in Prodigal Pt 1 how much I hate that fucking word?

I wanted to throw the script at them. I’d never been that angry before when I came to do my favorite thing to ever do.

But I can feel how they truly view me.

And I make a decision right in that moment as my heart is breaking and realizing I’m gonna have to perform a story about Jimmy and it’s utterly grotesque to put this character in this situation…

Jimmy is a tabloid photographer with an alcoholic live in girlfriend

*checks notes*… (lotta checking notes in this post)

on a show marketed to 10 year olds.

You guys are bastards.

Subject matter seems a little mature don’t it?

And I make a decision right then and there:

I’m going to give the greatest performance ever of this shitty material.

I’m going to remind you all how fucking good I am at this and that I deserve some fucking respect for once.

And I gave one of the greatest performances I’ve ever given on material that made me want to vomit.

I was SO DAMN GOOD that after recording the Writer/Director of the episodes and my ExecProdDaddio (who was no longer the execprod at that point) both come into the hallway as I exit after the final scene and they both raved to me about my performance.

One of the only times those people ever acknowledged my skillset that they had helped FOTF make hundreds of millions off of.

So, whenever you listen to the episodes of Living in the Gray… know that these were written because I had visited the campus and wanted to see the people I loved, and those people I loved and sought out as family at a time of crisis in my life, chose to criticize my bad life choices by ruining the character I had given 16 of my life to.

BeingJimmy™ has been a shitty experience over the years.

It’s brief moments of pleasure buried amongst piles of pain.

Please forgive my gigantic ego if I feel I should have been treated better by these people over the years.

All the charity I gave them.

And all the shunning, shortchanging, gaslighting, exploiting my talents for zero reward they gave me.

Sucks to be a prodigal.

*** need section about birth of child ***

*** need section about visiting Dallas church and the You Pt 2 mini post***

*** Dear Readers.

This is the last of what I wrote this past summer. I’m so sorry it’s incomplete.

I have no more punches to throw. Nor any energy for promotion.

Fewer than 3,000 people have read this blog.

Any chance it may have in reaching people… it’s in your hands.

I’m sorry I could not finish this story in time for this election of massive consequence.

This was the only way I felt I could help. But without a boost… it will remain largely unseen.

This is the best I can do.

FFS please

vote

Blue

Dave Griffin
“Bimmy”