if i ever met satan the first thing i would say is “did it hurt…when you fell from heaven??” It would be hilarious. The next thing I would do is probably burst into flame and get impaled dozens of times but it would still be hilarious
also i mean like not fictionalized versions of satan like in comics or w/e i mean like The Devil, Ol Scratch, literally comin up from the black pit of hell Satan like why mess with insensate evil???? i do not know. Mostly it’s teens I think which is like especially dangerous you got all that pent up psychic rage goin on when you’re 15 or w/e be safe kids
I’m not sure where I stand with God but I know for a fact that you don’t fuckle around with the Devil okay it is sort of surreal how “cute :))” ppl on this barren website are about satan and his activities
There are a lot of people I used to talk to regularly, both irl and online, and now like 90% of them have moved or have grown distant. That’s how life works but it’s soooo hard to go from having this constant support system to sometimes having nobody contact you for days at a time, mostly within the space of a year! It’s so much easier when it happens slowly yknow I can deal with that but all this abrupt stuff is kickin my ass
Early in my freshman year, my dad asked me if there were lots of Latinos at school. I wanted to say, “Pa, I’m one of the only Latinos in most of my classes. The other brown faces I see mostly are the landscapers’. I think of you when I see them sweating in the morning sun. I remember you were a landscaper when you first came to Illinois in the 1950s. And look, Pa! Now I’m in college!”
But I didn’t.
I just said, “No, Pa. There’s a few Latinos, mostly Puerto Rican, few Mexicans. But all the landscapers are Mexican.”
My dad responded, “¡Salúdelos, m’ijo!”
So when I walked by the Mexican men landscaping each morning, I said, “Buenos días.”
Recently, I realized what my dad really meant. I remembered learning the Mexican, or Latin American, tradition of greeting people when one enters a room. In my Mexican family, my parents taught me to be “bien educado” by greeting people who were in a room already when I entered. The tradition puts the responsibility of the person who arrives to greet those already there. If I didn’t follow the rule as a kid, my parents admonished me with a back handed slap on my back and the not-so-subtle hint: “¡Saluda!”
I caught myself tapping my 8-year-old son’s back the other day when he didn’t greet one of our friends: “Adrian! ¡Saluda!”
However, many of my white colleagues over the years followed a different tradition of ignorance. “Maleducados,” ol’ school Mexican grandmothers would call them.
But this Mexican tradition is not about the greeting—it’s about the acknowledgment. Greeting people when you enter a room is about acknowledging other people’s presence and showing them that you don’t consider yourself superior to them.
When I thought back to the conversation between my dad and me in 1990, I realized that my dad was not ordering me to greet the Mexican landscapers with a “Good morning.”
Instead, my father wanted me to acknowledge them, to always acknowledge people who work with their hands like he had done as a farm worker, a landscaper, a mechanic. My father with a 3rd grade education wanted me to work with my mind but never wanted me to think myself superior because I earned a college degree and others didn’t.