Lost and Found

by Orson Scott Card

Ezekiel realized something then. “You’re really trying to be a good dad.” Dad just sat there looking at him. “Not just trying,” Ezekiel corrected. “You are a good dad. But, like, you mean to be. You think about it.” “That’s mostly what I pray about,” said Father. “I mean, I pray about other things. For nobody to lose any body parts while cutting meat. For the strength to not be as snotty with customers as you are with me. And no, that wasn’t a criticism, I admire your skill at snottiness, it’s a real talent and I’m happy to let you practice on me.” Ezekiel gave him a little laugh about that. “I didn’t know I was practicing.” “You never draw blood,” said Father. “No knockout blows. So I’ve always assumed we were sparring.” “So,” said Ezekiel, “you pray for the willpower not to kill customers, for nobody to cut off any body parts, but mostly you pray for God to explain what’s wrong with me.” “I’m not trying to figure you out because, hey, I can’t even figure out myself, and I know everything I’m really thinking. But just … I just ask for help knowing what I should do.” “Did you ever get any answers?” “Mostly in the negative, but yes,” said Father. “Every time I think of doing something really stupid, I get a very strong feeling that says, ‘Wow, that’s stupid, don’t do that.’”