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Goodbye Jesus

Athiest from the get-go.


Sokudo Ningyou

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I did write my own story for the testimonials on the main page, but I'm doing it again here, just for an excuse to re-write and expand on the topic.

 

-----

 

To begin, I was doomed at the start.

 

To begin even before that, my parents were born, the eldest of both their families: my father of about twelve siblings, my mother of four. His was a white Lutheran family that bred like a Catholic; hers was a Mexican Catholic family that seemed to be miserable. Both grew up in lower income Milwaukee; my mother's sister and many of my father's younger siblings even went to the same school years before they married. I don't know how devoted my father's family was to church, but I do know my mother went through the whole Mexican experience; parochial elementary school, quincenera at 15.

 

When they met and were married, I was signed off to Catholicism before I was even conceived; it was the only way they, a cross-denominational couple, could marry at her church. Since they didn't plan on kids, it wasn't an issue. They got married, moved out to the country, and ended up having me about....five years into their marriage. (Notably, their marriage is so odd and almost non-existant that I don't even know how long they've been married.) I was never baptized, because the local church - according to my father - wanted them to pay some serious cash for the privilege, as they didn't attend. So I am joyously free of spiritual cleansing. :grin:

 

Now, this is where we wander into dim territory. My parents, as I've noted, are about as passionate and observant of one another as roommates. They haven't shared a bed since I was six. I actually had to share their old bed with my mother, while my father slept in my room, until I was in eighth grade, and I finally put my foot down and he moved into the spare room he kept as his private little study. Even though I shared a bed with her, I also barely ever saw my mother, because she chose to spend much of my life on second shift - because it paid her enough to be happy, even though my father paid, and still pays, the majority of the bills on less of a salary - and after work, at the bars. I slept horribly through most of my school years, because she would more often than not wake me up at two in the morning when she finally made it home after a half hour drunken drive from the bars. To wit, my mother the alcoholic has made her best effort at turning me into a teetoler. I'm also not sure if my birth didn't have something to do with it; she blames her parents for being terrible and suffocating, and in hindsight as I grow older, I wonder if she maybe couldn't handle being a parent herself. Much of my time spent with her then was on outings - Summerfest, the various ethnic festivals, State Fair - where she treated me, as I grew up, more like a little friend than a daughter. I also ended up sitting on bartstools with her afterwards as she visited her "friends."

 

So my childhood was basically spent with my father, whom I respect and love dearly, but who is also rather distant in nature. He'd make me dinner; I'd then watch TV or play outside while he worked on his model kits upstairs or watched TV in a separate room. I was never taken to church, except one time when I slept overnight at a friend's house, and they took me to Protestant services the next morning. I was never taught about the Bible, except what little pictures I found in my aunt's Jehovah Witness books, and animated "Bible Adventures" that I never considered to be anything other than, well, fictional cartoons. I knew vaguely about God, but never attached anything to the notion other than some old guy in a robe who liked sheep and hated the Egyptians. I also knew enough to feel smug about the fact I was practically the only kid in my school who didn't have to suffer through Sunday School. The Flood, the Eden story, the Plagues of Egypt; I knew about them through the cartoons and osmosis, but never considered them true or false, just stories. I'd ask God for favors like one asked the Tooth Fairy for more than a quarter; it was a kind of odd habit that I had picked up without being told, but didn't have any faith in.

 

As I grew up, I got to the point where I realized I never had believed. It didn't even really take a hard look at religion to tell me that it was all serious bullshit; if God was possible, then why not Zeus or Jupiter or Odin? Why did God hold so much power over the scattered religions and faith of the world? Was everyone else wrong? It especially struck me, as a Mexican-American, that the God of the Christians was also the God that prevailed in the Americas, even after so much genocide and bloodshed was done in His/Her/Its name, which was ironic considering their denunciation - to this day! - of Aztec sacrifice. And the idea of the Indians worshipping spirits who were fallible and just as clumsy and tricky and smart as any human seemed to make more sense that worshipping one God who had no problem with contradictions. Any idiot with a brain can realize God was created by man; nature and its law is unfair, unjust, and doesn't give a shit about you. That's just how it is.

 

When I told my mother, she immediately denied it; I had to believe in God, even though she herself had never taught me about the religion, taken me to church, or even had me baptized. I was just supposed to believe because she did and everyone else did; the herd mentality. No dice. I also, around that time, had my bosses offering to baptize me themselves for my soul's salvation, because one of them is a Catholic-turned-Protestant-turned-Lutheran nutjob who believes in whatever flavour of the month fundie basically tells her. And even then she didn't seem to believe I was really an athiest until it came up again recently - when she then tried to tell me I shouldn't ask off for Christmas, because I'm not Christian, and even though my parents are and they wanted me over for the day, I should allow everyone else who believes off first. (Should've told her since it was technically a pagan holiday first, me and my pagan co-worker should get first dibs over the monotheist faiths. :lmao: ) Mom dragged me to an Easter service at her family's Catholic church when we went to Texas for vacation - I can't believe how many damn songs they sing! What the shit is the point!? - and never brought it up again.

 

My father has been cool on it; he doesn't go to church because he sees no point in it. God knows his belief, wherever he is.

 

And at the end of the day, Christian faith is a hard pill to swallow when I see my family, almost 75% of whom are low-income, some drug users, many alcoholics. What has God done for them? What sin did they commit to scrape through life? If there was a God, they wouldn't be in that situation; but in the real world, life is an unfair, hearless bitch, and they've put themselves in that hole through lack of education, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, and a consistant habit of fucking up. Cruel as it seems, they make it clear to me that God is an explanation for that which has none, just to make man feel better about their mistakes:

 

My aunt, who was shot in the head when I was five.

 

My uncle, who hung himself three years ago after his wife died in their bed.

 

My cousin, who ended up in prison for being a Latin King.

 

My aunt, who recently tried to commit suicide after gaining a gambling addiction.

 

My uncle, who recently ended up in the hospital for effectively drinking himself over the years to near-death.

 

Every time someone says, "Thank God for [insert reason here]," I want to snap. Instead, I just shut up; I know I can't change their minds. But I'm happier that mine never really needed changing from the beginning.

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Good grief, what an upbringing you've had! Testimonies like yours leave me feeling like I'd like to say something sympathetic, but your parents and home life were very different from mine, so all I can do is say, "Wow."

 

At least I get the strong impression from the tone of your writing that while all that may have been a bear for a kid to get through at the time, and no doubt had some lasting effects, you seem to have come to terms with it emotionally. I don't get the feeling that it's stuff you're still dealing with. You seem to be on a pretty even keel and most importantly, while you seem disappointed in your parents, you don't seem bitter or angry.

 

Thanks for posting your story, Sokudo. I've been a bit curious about you since you got here.

 

Loren

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Feh. There's almost no point to it; my mother is so oblivious to what she's done that I ended up moving out without even telling her. We'd been getting on one another's nerves for a good two years up until then, because she wanted me to "go out and make friends and have a life," yet didn't approve of the older friend I made, so she began charging me rent to live at home, making me pay the phone bill, and tried to put a curfew on me at 19. She wanted me to make friends, but only if she liked them. And when I finally confronted her about her lack of involvement with my life until I was almost in high school, her constant life at the bar, and how completely hypocritical she was to judge me because she had no idea what I had even gone through during school - she thought I was blowing the racial teasing I suffered out of proportion, because she never had a problem - she simply denied everything. She honestly didn't think she'd done anything bad, even when my father apparently confronted her about it himself when I was younger. We've made up because she's basically ignored it, and I'm no longer at the house for her to take her anger about her job and her inability to listen or understand out on me.

 

And my father is, even if he's emotionally distant, smart; he'd cut class with his friend to hang out at the museum. :grin: In a subtle way, he pushed me towards educating myself through books - both of them inspired me to be a batshit crazy bookworm, which actually drove my teachers nuts because I'd read in class and not pay attention - which meant I learned more than I did in school.

 

So I am disappointed; the longer I'm away, the more my father seems to confide in me that he and my mother really don't get along; even mentioned recently they should get counselling. And yet, nothing's really changed between them since I can remember, except I'm not in the middle anymore. But what's the point of dwelling on it? All I can do is take them as examples to not do what they've done. Which so far means not drinking, not smoking - though they don't, the rest of my family does - and a disinterest in marriage and having children of my own.

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But what's the point of dwelling on it? All I can do is take them as examples to not do what they've done.

 

Precisely so.

 

Which so far means not drinking, not smoking - though they don't, the rest of my family does - and a disinterest in marriage and having children of my own.

 

Don't forget to give yourself credit for actually listening to people, another trait of your mother's you've clearly been avoiding.

 

It's been a pleasure to have you on the site. Thank you for giving us a little more intimate look at your background.

 

Loren

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It's a terrible story of growing up, Sokudo, but you tell it with a refreshing directness and brashness.

 

I grew up in Southern California, where I developed a decided affinity for Mexicans and Mexican-Americans. It's so abysmally white where I live now. But I

can be happier knowing you're right here at Ex-C.

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Yes, I am about as olive-brown as one can be. :grin: But I don't speak Spanish; mother had that drilled out of her when they moved up here at three, so she couldn't teach me.

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Yes, I am about as olive-brown as one can be. :grin:   But I don't speak Spanish; mother had that drilled out of her when they moved up here at three, so she couldn't teach me.

 

It always seems to me such a pity when languages are discarded from families in favor of becoming "more American" -- whatever that is. I know lots of Jews whose parents or grandparents spoke Yiddish, but who were never taught it. Maybe a word here or there is remembered, but so much personal identity lies in language and its particular expression within a family that its extinction is a high price to pay for assimilation, I think.

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Welcome Sokudo Ningyou to ex Christians. I read your story and appreciate what you have been through, although completely different than my upbringing .

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Sokudo Ningyou,

 

Our stories differ but I can relate to many parts of what you went through. I enjoy your ability to be sarcastically humorous. You seem to have a great attitude :grin:

 

Thanks for sharing your journey.

 

PR

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