My Counter-Religious Odyssey

My sister recently described our early childhood religious experiences in Suburban California. I remember little of it since having the bejesus and almost every other early childhood memory zapped out of my brain by a couple dozen soothing healing electroshock therapy treatments back in Maine. Ahhhhhh yes, the dubious pleasures of being "special".

I do vaguely remember fainting once in church and probably humiliating my dear sister almost as much as the time I wet my pants in kindergarten. My teacher was very scary and when we wee ones were lined up military style and interrogated as to who had left a puddle on one of the classroom chairs, my terrified young bladder betrayed me with another incriminating puddle... in, on and around my little Buster Browns. Busted.

Mean old Mrs. O'Kane gave me a verbal lashing which probably enhanced the volume of my childish leakings even more, and then she had my big sister called out of her fourth grade class to run home and retrieve a dry pair of underpants for me. I've never heard the end of that one, btw.

So I vaguely remember fainting during a hymn. Maybe I was being smitten by the divine hand of the creator, telling me that I'd taken a wrong turn that morning and had no business being in the Episcopal Church parroting words that I didn't understand or believe in my heart. He knew, even if everyone else around us didn't, that I didn't have a personal relationship with Jesus yet and I'd better get my heathen little tail out of His Holy House. Needless to say, we did leave shortly after I'd succumbed to a seven year old's version of the vapors.

I took a few more spiritual wrong turns on my road to salvation. When I was sixteen, I fell in love with a juvenile delinquent Mormon Boy and was promptly convinced by his family to join the church. I loved him and I loved the fact that I could stand up and play my violin during testimonials. My very own captive audience. So I said "groovy... ok... I'll join".

I still remember that morning in 1965 - I remember getting ready for my baptism. I went through the usual two hours of girly stuff - showering, shave my legs twice, conditioning my hair twice.... drying off, putting on the groovy pantsuit that I'd sewn myself, ratting and spraying my hair into a stylish helmet, layering on the make-up... every detail from head to toe attended to. Perfect.

If I'd only known what the Mormon Church had in store for my Seventeen Magazine picture-perfect self.

There I was, finding my picture-perfect self bedecked in an ugly bleached muslin smock, standing waist-deep in a pool of water at the big Mormon Temple in Sacramento; surrounded by my boyfriend, all the other cute juvenile delinquent Mormon Boys, all the other impeccably and groovily coiffed and painted Seventeen Magazine Mormon Girls and all of a sudden *dunk*! That nice man with his hand on the small of my back went right ahead and pinched my nose closed with his other hand and tipped me over backwards!

Up I came, sputtering, totally uncool and humiliated. Maybelline running all over my cheeks. Aqua Net lacquering the surface of the holy water instead of my hair which was now a dribbling mess. Coolness (not to mention grooviness) forever compromised. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting when I left home that morning. But.... I mean I must have used half a can of Aqua Net that morning and I was pretty sure that nothing, not even Our Lord, could penetrate it.

That was the end of my religious oddysey. I was never again tempted to convert or to even attend. But when I moved to Maine (2005-2008), I hadn't opened up my violin case in years and was jonesin' to make some music so I joined the Unitarian Church choir.

It was great fun and I discovered that there actually are churches in this world that are open, loving, culturally and politically enlightened places where one felt nothing but loved and respected and each member worshiped their own version of a Divine Life Force... whether it was Lloyd, their favorite tattoo artist or Jesus, their holy savior. Didn't matter. We were all Children of ______ (insert favorite spiritual entity - and yes, of course you can use Carl Sagan if you'd like).

So I guess I must be a Unitarian. Odyssey completed. For now.