When I was younger, and being raised Catholic I went to CCD. In our classes they talked about Heaven and Hell. When I was young, and according to the Catholic teachings, I had an angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. I was taught if you do something wrong that “devil” sitting on your shoulder was making you do it. Do you KNOW how scared I was every time I went to reach for a cookie before dinner knowing that the “horned guy with a tail” was perched on my shoulder egging me on to just “do it! Eat the cookie!” All the while the angel on the other shoulder was saying, “Don’t do it! You don’t want to burn in the pits of hell for a chocolate chip cookie, do you?” Yes, the Catholic religion was very scary.
The best part is when I made my confession. Now, back then you made your confession in the first grade. Okay, folks, in 1st grade you are 6-7-years old. When making your confession it is kind of like memorizing parts in a play. You have your lines and so does the priest. Making the confession was a nightmare. So much pressure to remember your lines. And if I don’t remember my lines, am I going to go to Hell? Also, I had to come up with things to confess about. Now, again, I am six. What does a six year old have to confess? Not much. But I made it through these confessions. How did I do it? I lied. That’s right, I said it. I LIED. I had no clue what to say every week. I mean, I was in grade school. I hadn’t murdered anybody or stole anything. So, I would just make up things. For those of you non-Catholics, confessions are like this. You go into the dark, dark room and shut the door. You kneel in front of the screen and begin telling all of your sins. Mine were always the same. “I’m sorry I hit my brother. I’m sorry I yelled at my mom. I’m sorry I ate the cookie; however, the devil guy on my shoulder told me to do it.” And that was that. The priest would whisper stuff, tell you to say 20 Our Fathers and 10 Hail Mary’s and be on your way. Your soul was now cleaned. That was another thing. We were taught every time you did something wrong, you had this black mark on your soul. The only way to remove the marks was to go to confession. Again, pretty scary stuff when you are little. Anytime I yelled at my brother I thought, “Oh great, here goes another mark on my soul. You know, just blacken the entire thing while you are at it because I am sure I will yell at him again this week.”
Now if this wasn’t bad enough, I would come out of the telephone booth looking confessional, say what had to be said only to have my mother say to me, “That wasn’t long.” Thus, this is why I chose to lie during my confessions. I did feel better hearing that my father, who was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school would also lie in confession. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. And since he did it, I felt much better and knew it had to be ok.
Confession day always made me sweat and I hated going. Not only did I not spend enough time in the confessional, but allegedly I was LOUD. I know, shocking. My mother said they had to back up because they could hear what I was saying. Great, now the congregation knows that the devil dude on my shoulder made me take the chocolate chip cookie. I am really going to hell and probably banished from any Town of Highland functions.
It has been years since I made the trip to the confession telephone booth and I don’t miss it one bit. I know I am a good person and that’s all that matters. Besides, does an entire congregation really want to hear my confessions? I mean I wouldn’t have my mom at the church telling people to “back that thang up, she is ready to confess.” J
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