I am an atheist. As children we said our prayers every night, but rarely spoke about religion. We were told we were Jewish (my dad's side), we went to temple on holidays (maybe) for my grandmother's sake. I have a few early memories of playing with other kids at the temple day care, of the songs, my grandma's singing. I love the way the rabbi would sing talk. I never learned hebrew beyond the basic prayers. My mom wanted us to be exposed to church too, we went to a methodist church a handful of times. When I was about 5 or 6, my brother had a mega tantrum at sunday school because he didn't want to cut out a picture of Jesus. I felt so secretly proud of him, I didn't care much for Jesus.
I didn't really give god much thought, but I did believe in him when I was a kid. I figured heaven was a nice place where my dead pets and my papa (grandfather) lived, and maybe the care bears too. I definitely prayed. In high school I was surrounded my evalangical christians. For some reason in our town, it seemed like all of the freaks and weirdos had some kind of religion, and they were really into it. I was constantly asked, cajoled, encouraged to read the bible (I did), accept jesus as my personal savior (no thank you) or go to tent revivals (did this once, I felt like I was in a fucking movie). I tried so hard to make it mean something to me. I was jealous of how sure everyone else seemed to be, because in the end it just seemed like a bunch of bullshit to me. Eventually I accepted that I didn't believe any of it, that the concept of God was comforting but not something I actually really thought was real. It took me a long time to be ok with that. It was particularly difficult when my grandmother was dying. I wanted so bad to think of her in heaven with papa. I still do. I struggle with what to tell my kid. The other day Yael asked me what angels were, and I told her they were like fairies, but they lived in the sky and were pretend. I didn't even think about it but I felt bad afterward. I feel like I am ruining something for her?
She is coming to terms with the concept of death that is just brutal and painful for me some days. Her toy dinosaurs are constantly dying, being hit by meteors or eaten or at least losing their parents in tragic T-rex attacks. I wish I could say something reassuring to her, but honestly the thought of death is probably just as confusing and scary for me as it his for her. Oh hey, now I'm crying.
I guess that is enough detail for now. I miss writing. I miss me. I seem to have been replaced with tired, robot me.