Making an Atheist (Part 2: The Project)

     Eight years old, and I was made to attend Roman Catholic indoctrination  every Saturday throughout the school year, to learn the dogma, rituals and traditions involved in what is known as the Sacrament of Holy Communion, in preparation to participate in the rite for the first time. The class focused on many concepts that were both thought provoking and disturbing, taught in a very authoritarian manner by an elderly, stern, habit-wearing Sister Mary Something-or-other. She didn't like questions, especially the most important "Why?" so, I went home with those questions and asked my mother, and my brother.
     Much of what we learnt at the start were prayers to memorize, but there were several lessons that I remember questioning, one of which was particularly upsetting. The one that caused the most damage was the doctrine of original sin, which teaches that we are born in sin. As an eight year-old, I translated that in my impressionable mind as a proclamation from the highest authority that "You are bad. You were made bad, and there is nothing you can do about it, so good luck figuring out how to fix it!"  Although a little part of my mind had a spark of that not making sense, the ironically "good" part of me, believed wholeheartedly what was told to me with such certainty. I remember feeling a sense of what I had no words for then, but could label now as defeat, or doom today. The nun taught that "lesson," as fact, with a sick joy, indicative of unconscionable malice. It was abusive and did everlasting damage to many. My mother was ill equipped to countermand the message. She simply told me that she didn't believe that. She also told me that she didn't believe in hell or heaven as post death destinations, rather they were experienced here on earth in our one and only life.
     After the prayer memorization, with little or no explanation, it on to the the Apostle's Creed which was a communally agreed upon declaration of what a Catholic is to believe. This was born at one of the early councils, though I am not sure if it was the Council of Nicaea or not. Of course we were never told that a bunch of theopolitical men who were trying to gain and maintain the control of the Roman Empire made this stuff up. No! We were taught that it all came from Jesus and was therefore factual and unquestionable. I recall being frustrated by the squelching of questions. Although I don't remember, I wonder if we were told that questions were sin. I do remember that my biggest question was, "Why aren't we allowed to ask questions?" Even then, I wasn't prone to just believe something because I was told; I wanted reasons and facts.
     We were told over and over again, that God was everywhere, saw everything we did, heard everything we said, and knew everything we thought. More than that, He was keeping score and planning to hold things against us. Yikes! This scared me. I didn't want anyone watching me go to the bathroom, or taking a bath, eavesdropping on my conversations, or policing my thoughts. Then we are told, that we have to evaluate ourselves and confess our "sins" and shortcomings to a priest in a closet where we could not see them. What a terrifying prospect for an 8 year-old. Not only was it terrifying, it was confusing: why do we have to tell a priest what this supposedly omniscient god was already supposed to know?  It makes no sense!
      Toward the end of the entire process, not long before our crucial day when we were to dress like little brides and grooms and cannibalize this Jesus character, we were planning a great illustrative craft project. The scope and purpose of this project was kept from us until the day we were to make it. The only thing we were told for weeks was that we had to bring one of those old plastic 3-tomato cartons. I'm not sure  if they still exist, but this is what they looked like:

     Now, we grew our own, and my mother was not happy that she had to spend money on what would surely be mealy-tasting, flavorless tomatoes, so that I could make some craft at catechism. In fact she tried to get out of it, but I was panicked over being the only person without the required supply, so she acquiesced.
     The day came when this mystery craft was to be created, and I carefully transported my little tomato crate to class. The first thing we were told to do was take out our crate and put it on our desk atop a piece of plain paper. We were given paint and brushes and instructed to color our crates blue. The nun then gave us portions of wadded cotton, and demonstrated how we were to affix it inside the crate using some Elmer's Glue, which would be passed around the classroom. We then set our crates aside and received a lesson about Mary, the mother of Jesus, a sinless virgin, which ended in us corporately reciting the "Hail Mary!" prayer we were taught many months prior.
     After the lesson about the "Holy Mother," the nun gleefully took a box from her desk and, with much excitement, announced that we would now be finishing our important craft project! I was hard pressed to figure out the connection between the craft and this lesson until she began walking around the room removing tiny plastic idols, I mean statues (Yikes! Idolatry is a sin!) of Mary for  us to glue into our cotton-lined crates. While she meandered around the room, she spoke about how nuns represent the "Holy Mother!" and what an honor it was to do so. Looking back, I wonder if this was a form of recruitment. I do know that I was gobsmacked, and did not remotely understand what the big deal was. More importantly, I experienced a gestalt, an "Aha" experience, which made it perfectly  clear that the entirety of Catholicism was, as my father would succinctly label for me later that day, HORSESHIT! My atheism was born.
     After that day, I never really believed anything I was previously or subsequently taught, and simply went along to get along. I made my communion later that spring, in a miniature wedding dress and brand new patent leather Mary Jane shoes. We had a party afterward. The best parts were the  shoes, and playing dress-up. Other than that, it meant nothing to me.

     In the next part, I'll follow my atheist path through childhood and my period of desire and effort to believe.