During the Christmas party, Bobby the Fly is dead, so we dig a grave. It is a small grave, of course — just one or two teaspoons of earth. Jessica, age 4, is crying as we dig the grave.
I put Bobby the Fly, in the hole.
“I there anything you’d like to say?” I ask Jessica. I can hear people laughing hysterically in the other room, to America’s Funniest Home Videos.
Jessica looks at me and doesn’t know what she should say at a funeral for a fly. She wants me to say something.
I think about it, and I say, “Oh Lord, we understand that Thou knowest all things, and you love all your creation with equanimity. We are gathered here to give Bobby the Fly back to the earth. For from the earth we are created, and back to it we will remain, until when you raise us op on Angles Wings.”
“AMEN!” yells Jessica, and she jumps up tears dry, to play Nintendo.
