Morning sunlight spilled across Spooner Street, illuminating the Griffin house in all its messy, chaotic glory. Inside, the kitchen looked like a cereal commercial gone wrong. Peter was eating a bowl of Cornflakes big enough to drown a raccoon, milk dripping down his chin as he read a magazine upside down.
Lois stood by the counter, folding laundry and trying not to lose her mind. "Peter, please, chew with your mouth closed. You sound like a lawnmower full of peanut butter."
Peter grinned, cheeks full. "Can't hear you, Lois! Too busy enjoyin' the taste of freedom and calcium!"
Stewie sat in his high chair, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Yes, Mother, please let the imbecile continue. It's like observing evolution… in reverse."
Before Lois could respond, the phone rang. She wiped her hands on a towel and answered. "Hello? Oh! Hello, Francis!"
Her smile faltered instantly.
Peter looked up. "Francis? That's my dad! What's the old crank want now? Did he finally run out of people to yell at?"
Lois covered the receiver. "Peter, he says he's coming to visit."
Peter's spoon clattered onto the table. His face went pale. "He's what?"
"Coming to visit. He says he wants to spend some quality time with his son."
Peter's eyes darted around in panic. "Quality time? Lois, the last time he tried to spend quality time with me, he made me stand in a church basement for six hours holding a candle while he yelled, 'Repent, you tubby disgrace!'"
Stewie tilted his head. "Ah, yes. The timeless bond between father and son. Fueled by guilt, judgment, and emotional trauma."
Lois sighed. "Peter, he's your father. It wouldn't hurt to try and have a nice visit."
Peter groaned, sinking into his chair. "Oh, it's gonna hurt, Lois. It's gonna hurt real bad."
---
A few hours later, the sound of a car horn blared outside. The Griffins peeked through the window. A stern-looking old man stepped out of a beat-up car, dressed in a black suit that looked like it had been ironed by pure anger. His name was **Francis Griffin**, Peter's devoutly Catholic, perpetually disappointed father.
Peter gulped. "He's here. Quick, everybody, look busy and holy!"
Francis entered without knocking, clutching a Bible like it was a weapon. "Peter."
Peter smiled nervously. "Hey, Dad! Welcome to Quahog! Can I get you something? Maybe a beer?"
Francis frowned. "Beer? The Devil's mouthwash? No thank you. I'll have water. Blessed, if possible."
Lois stepped in politely. "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Griffin."
Francis looked her up and down. "Still Protestant, are you?"
Lois blinked. "Um… yes?"
He sighed heavily. "Tragic."
Brian wandered in, tail wagging slightly. Francis took one look and crossed himself. "And you keep a beast in your home? Disgusting."
Peter forced a laugh. "Oh, come on, Dad. Brian's family! He's like a person!"
Francis turned to Brian. "Then he can say grace at dinner."
Brian cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh… Dear God, thank you for this meal. Please don't let me get neutered again."
Peter beamed. "See, Dad? He's practically religious!"
Francis scowled so hard it could sour milk.
---
Dinner was painfully quiet except for Peter's loud chewing and the faint hum of tension.
Francis finally broke the silence. "So, Peter, do you still attend Mass?"
Peter coughed, pretending to choke on a meatball. "Oh, yeah, yeah! Every Sunday! Sometimes twice if they got donuts!"
Lois gave him a side glance. "Peter…"
Francis slammed his fork down. "You haven't been to church in years, have you?"
Peter flinched. "Hey, it's not like I don't pray! I prayed once last week — when I lost the remote."
Francis stood up suddenly. "That's it. Tomorrow, you're coming with me to church."
Peter whined. "Aw, Dad, come on! The Patriots game is on tomorrow!"
Francis glared. "The only touchdown you need is with the Lord."
Stewie grinned. "Oh, this is going to be *delightful.* Watching Father Fatty try to sit still through an hour of hymns and guilt."
---
The next morning, Peter and the family stood outside the towering stone church. The air smelled like incense and old wood. Peter tugged uncomfortably at his tie.
Inside, the pews were filled with devoted parishioners, singing in perfect harmony. Peter sang too — loudly, terribly, and completely off-key.
"AAAAAAAMAAAAAAZIN' GRACE, HOW SWEET THE FAAAART!"
Lois covered her face. Francis glared like a man witnessing blasphemy.
After Mass, the priest approached. "Good to see you again, Francis. And this must be your son, Peter!"
Francis grumbled. "Yes. My greatest test of faith."
Peter laughed nervously. "Heh, yeah, that's me! Testing faith since '68!"
The priest smiled kindly. "Well, Peter, we're glad to have you back. The church is always open for lost sheep."
Peter frowned. "Lost sheep? You callin' me fat again?"
Lois groaned softly.
---
Later that week, Francis decided that Peter's soul needed saving — through work. He dragged Peter to the local Catholic School to "volunteer." Peter ended up in charge of helping the nuns paint the hallways.
Unfortunately, within ten minutes, he had spilled three buckets of paint, painted a nun's habit blue, and somehow nailed his own sleeve to the wall.
Sister Mary glared. "Mr. Griffin, perhaps you should… pray instead."
Peter smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I was thinkin' that too."
---
That night, back at home, Peter sat in front of the TV sulking. "Man, my dad thinks I'm a loser."
Brian took a sip of his martini. "Well, to be fair, you *are* one. But at least you're consistent."
Peter frowned. "I just wish I could make him proud for once."
Stewie perked up. "Have you tried faking a miracle? Humans fall for those constantly."
Peter's eyes widened. "That's it! If I do somethin' holy, he'll have to respect me!"
Brian groaned. "Oh God, what have I done."
---
The next day, Peter showed up at church again, ready to "prove his holiness." During Communion, he accidentally spilled wine on the altar — but when sunlight hit the stain, it looked like the face of Jesus.
Gasps filled the church. People dropped to their knees.
Peter blinked. "Uh… yeah! That's right! A miracle! Happened right under my… big, handsome nose!"
Francis's jaw dropped. "My son… performed a miracle?"
Peter puffed up. "Guess you could say… I'm kinda tight with the Big Guy now."
Within hours, news spread across Quahog. People came to see the "Miracle of the Griffin." A camera crew even showed up.
Lois was mortified. "Peter, this is ridiculous! That stain just looks like ketchup!"
Peter gasped. "Blasphemy! Lois, if you can't see the Holy Face of our Lord in that red blob, then maybe you're the sinner here!"
Stewie shook his head. "Humanity never disappoints."
---
But the fame didn't last long. During a second "miracle demonstration," Peter tripped, knocking over a candle, and accidentally set part of the altar cloth on fire.
The priest screamed, "Put it out! Put it out!"
Peter flailed wildly, trying to stomp out the flames — but only made it worse. Smoke filled the church. Fire alarms blared.
Francis was horrified. "You've desecrated the House of God!"
Peter coughed through the smoke. "I was just tryin' to make you proud, Dad!"
Francis's face softened for a moment. "Peter… you don't need to fake miracles. Just live right."
Peter looked at him earnestly. "But I'm not good at livin' right. I'm only good at bein' wrong."
Francis sighed, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Then be the best wrong person you can be."
---
Later that night, father and son sat quietly outside the house, watching the stars.
Francis looked up. "You're still a fool, Peter. But you're my fool."
Peter smiled. "Thanks, Dad. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Lois peeked from the window, smiling softly. "Well, at least they're bonding."
Stewie tilted his head. "Indeed. Nothing strengthens a family quite like shared idiocy."
And inside the Griffin house, the chaos continued — full of noise, laughter, and the strange comfort of love that only the Griffins could understand.