My Religious Experience

When I was between the ages of 6 and 13, my parents experienced many on again/off again religious phases. That all changed in July, 1974.

My father worked as a guard in a maximum security prison in Lucasville, Ohio. A riot erupted, and two guards were dead. My mother and I listened intently to the radio announcer, although he would give no names until the slain guards' families were notified. He did, however, give one piece of horrifying news: The incident occurred on K-Bloc, home of some of the most vicious killers on the planet. It was also where my dad worked.

When something like this happens at a prison, all personnel are placed on frozen status until it's resolved. Dad was supposed to have gotten off at 2:00 that day. At 4:30 we still had not heard from him and were beginning to assume the worst. It must have been a little past 5:00 when his familiar green pickup pulled into the driveway. Dad was visibly shaken, but unharmed. Life would continue as before. Or would it?

My mom did a lot of praying that day, and even though both guards were dead before she finished her first "Ay-men," she somehow believed God had answered her prayers. Never mind the prayers of the families of the slain. This event set Mom and Dad on fire for God, and plunged my brother and me into a dark world of plastic smiles.

Sometimes it was difficult to know if these adults were smiling or gnarling like a cornered Korean mutt. They chattered endlessly about the glories of Jesus and the wonders of God, as if they were trying to convince themselves more than anything. Ladies with perfect faces and men with perfect hair described their experiences with Jesus, who was nothing but love. If you believed anything different than what this particular church taught, however, this loving Jesus would personally toss you into this huge lava pit. When love is defined in this way, is it any wonder our society is so fucked?

I wanted to believe, and it was easy to do. I was, after all, surrounded by adults. They knew everything.

I attended the youth brainwashing sessions where they drilled their own interpretation of God's Word into my little brain. It wasn't long before I was playing bass guitar in a family gospel group. I even had a couple of girlfriends who were true believers. Surely I was heaven bound.

Women have fucked up so many things in my life, and I suppose religion was one of the first of those. In my mid-late teens a girl I cared a lot about started seeing someone else. I learned then my reasons for attending church. Nothing to do with Jesus. I stopped going.

It wasn't that I'd stopped believing. I had no desire, however, to go to Heaven and follow this Jesus guy around because he was so wonderful. I started to see the single-mindedness. All these people talked about was Jesus. He was all that mattered. Well, I had other interests.

Among these interests, music stole the top slot. Many changes occurred here, too. Billy Joel, Barry Manilow, and John Denver were replaced by Kiss, Led Zeppelin, Boston, and ACDC. I grew my hair, joined a band, learned to drink and smoke and be happy.

I found the honesty of Rock and Roll more appealing than anything. "Highway to Hell," for instance, is so in your face. They come right out and say it. I suppose this song was my anthem for the next ten years. I thoroughly believed I was going to Hell, but didn't really care.

My early religious experiences have negatively colored my views, not only of most religions, but of the followers of those religions as well. The second I discover someone is a member of a church, my respect for that person drops a notch or two. I simply cannot fathom how otherwise intelligent, educated people can be led into accepting such a set of nonsensical beliefs. I've heard faith defined as "the act of believing that which you know to be untrue." To that, I say "Amen."