Original Sin

I was raised a Catholic. I went to mass and I was sent to Catholic grade school. This is what I was taught, that I was born bad. That when I was born it was along with something called original sin. This meant that just by being born you have it. This was the reason I surmised, that the nuns would get so angry sometimes. They would just take one look at me and see my original sin. I could not see it, I could look in the mirror, deep into my eyes, and still, still, could not see my original sin.

I remember being about 8, and being in what we used to call a dairy store,which was basically a small, local convenience store, usually owned and run by a family. Anyways, while in this convenience store, while holding about 15 cents in my hand, and while staring at the penny and nickel candy, I told my friend who was with me, that she could have 10 of my fifteen cents, and I would take 5. She was happily surprised, and actually so was I, I could be generous. How cool. I felt proud of myself. For a day, I forgot that I was born sinful.

In school, we had to go to mass on Holy Days. The girls had to cover their heads, and if you forgot your head scarf, the nuns would pin a kleenex on your head. Another reminder of your badness, for some reason, only the girls had to cover their heads, how bad could we be? If I ‘talked back’ to the nuns, I ended up on my knees in the dark in the cloakroom. Just stay there they’d say, and think about how bad you are. I could not imagine I was that bad, I’d think and think and what I’d think is that ‘these nuns are crazy.’ But I could not say that, not out loud.

We had religion class, and I remember when we read about God in the Old Testament, and God saying he was a jealous God, and not to have any graven images. So I raised my hand, and when called on I asked, “But what about the statues?” And the teacher said, “Yes, what about the statues?” and I asked, “Aren’t the statues in the church, you know, the big ones, of Jesus, and of Mary, aren’t they graven images?” There was a silence in the classroom as all the fifth grade heads looked at me. “No, they are not,” I was told.

I was born bad, statues are not graven images, God is jealous and teachers get angry if you ask too many questions. At home, I could try to talk to my mom, but she would act distracted if I tried to talk to her while she was watching “Dark Shadows” when I got home from school. If I tried to ask her while she was cooking dinner, she would just ask me to help her and complain that those nuns just thought they knew everything.

I was going to get to the bottom of this God stuff, I would find the answers, one day.