Best Christopher Hitchens quotes

Born Unplugged Pt. 1

The few people that know I'm an atheist rarely bring it up. I like to think it’s because they know me and that my words and actions speak far greater volumes than whether or not I buy into a fairytale.  To be honest I hate talking about religion and when it comes up I tend to avoid it like a pro athlete dodging child support, either changing the subject or simply remaining silent, allowing  friends and family to indulge in their fancies and wish-thinking until the conversation moves on (or I do).  I decided to start up this blog for two reasons, the most practical being to inform anyone who cares to ask, and secondly, because these writings are my own meditation on where I stand.  This is the first time I have actually taken the time to think on this and put forth an effort to put it into words.

So why am I an atheist? How did I come to this point? No matter how the question is posed it is never a simple answer, but a long, partially biographical one.  I say partial because non-belief was never really that big a deal to me.  I always saw it as a matter of preference, like how lots of folks like ice cream; you have some like chocolate,  some like vanilla, other people who like other flavors and those who don’t like ice cream at all.  I finally realized there’s no easy answer to this question, and for some, no acceptable one.  So I’ll just have to tell this story as clearly as I possibly can and keep it moving. 

I remember being about 5 or 6 years old and my mother would read a children’s bible story book to me before bed.  It had all the classic tales, Adam and Eve, Moses, Jesus, yadda yadda yadda and even when she tried to transition me to the actual bible, these stories never came across as anything more than a bunch of long, boring narratives with no relevance to the world around me.  They never even had the basic elements, no thrills or frights, no hero’s journey.  Just a few bits that told us to be good, and being rather vague as to what happens when we’re not. Not even a happy ending. 

My mother used to take me to church at every given opportunity (and for the record, let’s not mistake the word take for an indication of my willingness).  She and my sisters would get up so early and after breakfast begin taking hot combs and curling irons to their hair amidst the squawking of the TV, the radio, and their own voices.  So much joy was taken in getting dolled up for their weekly fashion show  and with my father either working some manic weekend shift, or catching up on his sleep as a result of said shift, I was forced into a penguin suit and shuffled off Paterson, New Jersey’s “Highway Church of Christ” (My first bit of cognitive dissonance was that the building was not located anywhere on or even near a highway) where I would watch grown men and women playing dress up and partake in what I can describe as a weekly study in the application of  boredom….and hysteria .

(To be continued…)