The Myth of Wile E

The America of America

Daddy quit drawing, and drinking too. He went off into the desert to find himself, but found religion instead (which I'm pretty sure wasn't missing). I guess Daddy kind of forgot to keep looking for himself after that. As far as I know, the person who went off to find himself is still out there somewhere, last seen headed westbound on a Greyhound bus.

So, Religion came back in Daddy's place. Religion looked a lot like Daddy, but you could tell it wasn't him—not really. For one thing, when you tried to talk to Religion it usually responded in quotes. Kind of like this Magic 8 Ball I used to have, but instead of responding with phrases like "ask again later" and "signs point to yes," Religion would answer with quotes full of colons and numbers and the occasional "lo" and "yea." Oh well. We decided we might as well call it "Daddy" anyway, at least until Daddy himself (hopefully) came back.

Then, a few months after quitting the search for himself, Daddy decided to quit home, too. He decided he was through with California; or rather, that California was through with him.

See, California is kind of the "America" of America. If the misfits and pioneers and visionaries of the world go to America to follow their dreams, then the misfits and pioneers and visionaries of America go to California. California is the end of the line as far as dreaming goes. If your dream gets turned down by California, then your dream has had its day in court. And Daddy realized he just didn't care to appeal anymore.

So. Daddy up and moved to Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Why there, of all places? Well, he claimed the town "called to him" in a prophetic dream while he napped on the couch one afternoon. (I should mention that, perhaps coincidentally, he often fell asleep watching the Game Show Network.)

Once settled in Truth or Consequences, Daddy took a temporary position at the Circle K, and waited for some sign of God's New and Improved Plan for him, vocation-wise. He was pretty sure it would be revealed in the classified ads, but to cover all bases, he also checked his horoscope daily, and was always on the lookout for whatever holy images might emerge in, say, cappuccino foam, or a splotch of nacho cheese. (Once he thought he saw Jesus on a jelly doughnut, but upon closer inspection he decided it was probably John Lennon.)

After months of searching, Daddy saw an "Artists Wanted" ad in the classifieds. Was this, at last, the Sign? Well, probably not—Daddy was hired as an apprentice at a tattoo parlor, but was soon let go due to low demand for pirates and teddy bears. So Daddy widened his search, answering a "Painters Wanted" ad, which led to a pretty good job painting houses. But was this really his destiny? Surely, he thought, God's Plan for him wasn't so mundane as all that. Surely he was special to God, and not just one of, you know, the filler people?

Finally Daddy saw an ad for "Sculptors Wanted," which went quite a bit beyond the realm of his art correspondence school training. Answering the ad was risky—a leap of faith, Daddy said. The place turned out to be a workshop that created fake food for dessert displays and menu photos.

And would you believe, Daddy had finally found his calling? (This goes to show I would not make a good pastor. I had no idea God was all that invested in either career counseling, or the artificial dessert industry.) In just two years' time Daddy rose through the ranks to become quite possibly the world's foremost "tabletop" artist, sculpting imitation foods primarily in the dessert genre, as if for a Madame Tussauds Wax Museum of banana splits and cherry pies.

Daddy was especially sought after because unlike many other artists in his field, he put flaws in his sculpts. His "slice of Black Forest cake," for instance, might be a little lopsided or have some vinyl "crumbs" or a thumbprint swirled into the vinyl frosting. His banana splits would have the cherry sliding down the whipped cream, leaving a pink trough behind; the banana would be in pieces; the hot fudge and caramel would be right on the verge of pouring over the side of the dish, mixed with a puddle of melting ice cream. Apparently, restaurants found that people preferred Daddy's sculptures to the ones that looked too perfect to be real.

Having found success, Daddy tried to summon the rest of us to join him in Truth or Consequences, but Mama said no. She didn't think California had dismissed her dream quite yet. She was pretty sure she could still plead its case in the court of final appeals.