Growing Up Atheist
Well, where to begin?
I am a sixty-six year old atheist, and was brought up that way. I suppose that
I and my brothers and sister are fairly unique in America. My parents were
atheists, and my father’s parents were atheists-don’t know about our background
before that. My mother was brought up in the church and attended various
services until she met my dad and married him at the age of nineteen. That’s
when she got religion, or should I say not. All of her sisters and brothers
stayed in the church, including the ones who upon marrying into another family discovered
their new in-law’s Native American heritage. They embraced their new heritage
wholeheartedly. My folks and I even went to one of their ceremonies—very
interesting, but that is another story. Even with all the wild religionists in
our extended family, none of them has ever held our atheism against us. We were
as embraced as any other member of the family at large.
When I first mentioned
to my mother that I was going to write a book about our family and atheism (she
was 88 at the time-now going on 92) she said, “Wait until I’m dead. I really
don’t want you to open up a can of worms.”
Well, she relented
about a year ago. She seems more confident now that somehow it’s okay to lay it
all out there. Kind of like a gay person having the confidence to finally come
out of the closet and let the world know. It does seem liberating, because all
of my life-mostly from the time I was of elementary school age, I was aware
enough to know that our family was different than the vast majority of
Americans.
So, again, where do I
go from here? I’ve decided that I’m just going to ramble—it’s easier. I might
go back and forth a little bit so it might get a little confusing. I apologize,
but I will try to make everything
clear!
I might talk to myself
here a little, so please indulge me. I’m going to loosely construct the tale of
my atheist family from childhood to the present, although, as I commented
above, I might switch time frames just a little.
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