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2015-07-16 - 11:39 a.m.

I grew up with a lot of the kind of family that had boring, cold basements in their houses and that was moderately into Jesus.

That's the overriding image of the kids' houses I would often visit, for video games, for basketball in the driveway, for peeks into their worlds. The basements were hard-surfaced, cold, lit harsh and white by fluorescent tubes, a bible sitting on a table, maybe some bible-based children's games stacked sad on the floor in a corner.

It leaves feeling me not warm for their faith but cold, devoid, sad. Bleached-out. I don't know why, either. They took me into their homes. Often gladly, with relish. Went out of their way to make sure I had a snack, a cup of Kool-Aid. But the emptiness was there, is what I remember. The feeling that, without those bibles, without those games, there'd be just the walls, just those cold floors.

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