An overdue introduction to G. O. and tissue

Declan and I were halfway through an afternoon drive home recently when he struck up a religious conversation with me, in a manner only he could pull off.

"I asked G.O. to make me not pick my nose anymore," he informed me.

I stuttered a bit before replying, confused by several aspects of his statement.

"You asked who, what?" I finally forced myself to say.

"G...O..." he said with a long pause between letters, giving me a strange 'Don't make me say it' look through the rear-view mirror.

"You mean God?" I asked with more than a little confusion.

"Yes," he replied, his tone indicating slight relief as he continued, "Casey says I pick my nose all the time and I try to stop but I just can't."

"Declan God isn't a bad word. You can say God's name, just not in vain," I attempted to explain it was an issue of respect and manners, but Declan wasn't interested. I eventually came to the conclusion that he had grown slightly fond of saying "G. O." and wasn't in a hurry for a change.

I turned my efforts to addressing the nose picking comment and explained to Declan that neither Casey, or anyone else, were really all that concerned with how much he picked his nose. Where he disposed of the "fruits of his labor" afterwards, however, was a big concern to many of us.

I reiterated proper tissue etiquette to Declan the rest of the drive home, a topic we have discussed multiple times in the past. For reasons unknown to me that seemed to be the day my instructions finally registered with Declan and he marched straight to the bathroom tissue box when we arrived, eager to practice.

I made a mental note that it was time to start attending church on the weekends, recognizing I was not all that good at answering some of Declan's more spiritual questions.

I have probably been slacking in that area for far too long. G. O. forgive me.