As I was writing some nonsense on Facebook today, I was reminded that I need to get something off my chest.
I have something to confess.
For those among us who are religious and easy to offend, get thee to a nunnery, coz you ain't gonna like this one.
Even as a child I had bad feelings about organised religion.
This was, I suspect, made a good deal worse by the fact I was born into a quasi-Catholic house to Mr. and Mrs. Closet Cynic.
Actually, closet isn't right. Intermittent is closer.
Mr. and Mrs. Intermittent Cynic.
Yep.
Most children do their First Confession and First Holy Communion around 7 or 8 I think. Just before they start to be able to think for themselves.
I delayed mine until 9, when social pressure caught up to me via my parents.
Due to the fact that my father had insisted on a public school education for my brother and myself - he felt that coupling religion and snobbery was ugly, I had to attend "lessons" at nights and on weekends, run especially for the spiritually backwards children of recalcitrant parents.
Oh, and what a joy they were too!
Sour nuns, and intolerant priests who gave even the stupidest child that distinctly strange, slimey feeling that one looks back on now as the aura of the kiddie-fiddler.
A divine halo.
I never had any fears for myself, but I certainly do remember being always at my brother's side when we were unhappy enough to find ourselves on that hallowed ground.
I don't know what it is that some people give off exactly, at the time I thought perhaps it was authority or unfriendliness, but kids can smell when something's not right, they just don't know to do about it.
Regardless, there I was each weekend for what seemed to be an eternity, trying to stuff 9 years of garbage into my head and finding myself, for the very first time (excluding scripture classes at school), mentally disputing what an adult was telling me.
I never got over the whole Mary was a virgin thing, and I never saw the value of having Our Father or Hail Mary prayer races. What has speed to do with holiness?
Well, as much as virginity, apparently.
I never saw the genius in the statement, "God is good," despite the fact there was only one o difference. I wondered whether the man who presented that to us as proof of God's existence was an idiot, or whether he just hoped we were.
And few things had ever struck me as less sincere than that priest asking,
"Are there any questions?"
I know I squirmed about in my seat and thought the nine year old's version of,
"Well, none that you can answer and fewer still that you won't humiliate me for asking."
Nope. Not buying it.
Not even at nine.
But I went through with it because at nine, I had no alternative, my parents had a party planned and I was to have some lame white dress that I really didn't think made up for it at all.
I still don't wear white and I never, ever feel comfortable in it.
As I write this, I wonder if perhaps that's why.
I have never felt like such a fraud as I did on that day.
But before the communion, there was the confession.
I had to go alone into a barren little cubicle with the very person who made my skin crawl, drop down into a degrading position and beg him for forgiveness.
Ummm, no.
I felt as judged and frightened as a small child might in such an unpleasant situation.
And I felt something else which I now know to be resentment.
Who the Hell was this awful, unfriendly man to be judging my sins?
My turn came - I went in the first batch. Just like going to the dentist - I'd rather get it over with quickly. That's what she said.
My knees hit the wooden kneeling bar and due to my size, pained my instantly.
My nerves were in disarray as I had to participate in the role playing exercise of,
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been *****days since my last confession and during this time I have ********* "
Well, with croaky voice and a mounting terror of messing it all up, I got that far due to the gruelling rehearsals of those dreadful weekends.
Unfortunately, this was all they had taught us.
The rest they left to us....
I guess they supposed we'd know what we'd done wrong and that we'd just insert it in neatly after all the rote learning.
Nuh-uh.
During those few defining seconds, instead of pleading my case, I chose to think about what this all meant.
My conclusion was that it all stank.
I couldn't think of a single thing I'd done wrong.
I hadn't embezzled, committed adultery, killed anyone, raped, pillaged or plundered...I was at a loss.
I was only nine years old FFS.
Nothing.
This moment cemented my stance on religion for all time.
"I haven't done anything wrong, you horrible man, but I'll bet you have, " I thought.
So, knowing that the robed ogre was waiting expectantly, judging not only me, but my parents by my response, I made something up.
I lied.
Even as it left my lips I knew it felt bad and that I was probably in some very serious bother.
The kind of bother you can't tell anyone about, but must sort out all by yourself.
And so, when he pronounced his judgement on my soul and told me my penance was two Our Fathers and three Hail Mary's, I said them.
Good and fast too.
But I said them in compensation for lying to a priest during my First Holy Confession.
I think I even threw in a few extras just to be sure.
Now, I carried this stain on my soul around from age 9 until age 38.
Well not really.
I mean, I never worried about the opinion of any God who would judge a small child, but I never verbalised the event except to Hell Boy, and then only for comic purposes.
But, waiting (once again) at Kingsford Smith airport for Yoga Boy to return home from India, I turned to my Dad and suddenly said,
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."
I went on to explain the whole debacle and I really did feel relief from offering up such an earnest confession, albeit in such a public place and to someone I respected.
Probably it was made easier for me by the sound of his laughter and the strange look of admiration in his eyes as I detailed my queer childish logic.
He thought it was great.
It was not long after that that I heard him telling a friend that although I look like my mother, I think like him.
Amen to that.
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LOL
After Hell Boy had read this, I asked him, "Do you think I'll be going to Hell for that?"
His reply, "Well I hope so, otherwise I won't be seeing you."
Check mate.
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