Kneeling, kneeling on the living room carpet. Six years of age and staring at the top of the wood mantle on which a small, shiny bust of the virgin-mother sat between a lit candle and my elder brother’s clock radio. The radio was playing a late-50’s weekly broadcast of “The Rosary Hour,” where a kindly-sounding male voice would guide our family along with the rest of god’s radio audience, in a trip ‘round the rosary beads in solemn prayer for world peace. Didn’t know it then, but “praying for world peace” really translated to- “God, if you’re listening, please keep us safe from those bastard communists!” I learned later that communism was a term that was often equated with atheism. While watching the news, dear ma-ma would often spit, “Those damn, dirty, atheist, commies!” It sounded so potent, yes? Though it would be years before I would begin to wonder why no one ever asked me if I wanted to be confirmed, I was already forming doubts. I think that even at a young age, children of the religious tend to wander through a minefield of almost subliminal hints- where the religious beliefs that their parents’ have them swallow, don’t square with reality at all.



