When I was five and six years old my dad would take me to the RC place on Sunday mornings. I remember sitting enraptured by the sermons, specifically by their extraordinary length, especially to this then child, and by what I perceived to be utter emptiness. (It's possible I knew that some things in those sermons made little sense but had yet to hurl the word "emptiness" to describe them.)
One day, a moment I remember well, I said to my dad something in such a way as to avoid any potential misinterpretation:
"Dad, I don't wanna go to church anymore."
His immediate reaction: Laughter. The kind aimed towards the heavens when one realizes that his six-year-old is figuring things out fast. And setting firm his own well-considered belief system.
His immediate reaction: Laughter. The kind aimed towards the heavens when one realizes that his six-year-old is figuring things out fast. And setting firm his own well-considered belief system.
I pray to no one.
Postscript: That former base is now an airport, Baden-Airpark.
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