C.r.a.z.y. Page #2

Hmm?

You're not alone.

It'll stop eventually.

Keep praying. You'll see,

Baby Jesus will hear you.

Especially you.

You were born on the same day.

Sweet dreams.

Big chimneys, huh?

Where are we going?

You'll see.

careful.

Mrs. What's-her-name,

the Tupperware lady,

had realized my mother's dream:

she had walked

in Christ's footsteps.

Try to trust your feelings.

You can feel things others can't.

You mustn't fear it.

He's been blessed

from on high, Mrs. Beaulieu.

The good Lord chose him

knowing he was strong enough

for what's expected of him.

But give him a chance

to grow up a bit. Hmm?

So he better understands.

He's a good-looking boy.

He'll go far.

Christ...mas, I'm bushed!

I've got news for you.

Your son has a gift.

A family's seventh child

of the same sex is gifted.

With my three miscarriages,

that makes Zac seventh.

Who says your miscarriages

were boys?

They must've been.

That's all you can do.

We knew he could stop colic,

but he's otherwise gifted.

Gifted people

can pass their gift on to others,

if they're of the opposite sex

and not related.

Mrs. What's-her-name

passed all of hers on to him.

Oh, Jesus.

How much Tupperware

did that cost you?

None.

She didn't try selling me any.

I bought some.

It's different.

This is no joke.

He's truly gifted!

can your gift cure my headache?

There.

What's this?

Look.

It's not my birthday,

as far as I know.

Your record's unfindable.

We bought another.

It's the same thing!

I know.

I already have this one.

The sound's not the same.

An imported collector's record

isn't the same.

It's the thought that counts.

I'll just return it, then.

Raymond, Antoine!

That's enough!

Christian! Supper's ready.

come on, boys. Let's eat.

- coming.

Gifted...

What do you think about that?

What did Mrs. What's-her-name

tell you?

I'm not allowed to say.

But she told Mom that if

the good Lord gave me a gift,

I had to use it.

That I could help a lot of people,

even save them.

Tell him to think of him.

Think of Uncle Lucien.

He cut himself eating steak.

They're not going to start calling

for every little booboo?

Turn that music down.

All I had to do

was silently recite the secret

little prayers imparted to me

by Mrs. What's-her-name,

which consisted not of asking,

but of commanding God to heal.

Remember, you can't use

your gift for personal gain.

Or to harm others.

What a shame.

What's he saying?

He's not allowed to say.

Stop it, will you?

From now on, it'll cost a dime

every time you pick your nose.

You'll be rich.

You must know

how ketchup's made by now,

you've been reading the damn label

for half an hour.

Another pest

who just cut himself shaving.

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