Monday, September 21, 2015
"Why don't you go to church with us, Aunt NGS?"
I deflect. "Oh, Uncle Dr. BB and I will take a nap and then meet you guys at Aunt Tricia's for dinner."
"But why don't you come with us?"
"Well," I am officially stalling. I glance to my left at my sister-in-law, the child's mother, and I know that what I'm about to say is going to create a stir.
"Well, buddy, I don't believe in God."
"You don't?" He is incredulous. Six years old, church every week since birth, Catholic school for kindergarten and first grade, and so totally brainwashed that this has never occurred to him.
"Yeah. And that's okay. We all believe different things. You like macaroni and cheese and I don't. Elizabeth loves Princess Sophia and you don't. We all have different beliefs."
I look at his mother, nervous. She doesn't say a word; she just keeps driving.
"Yeah," he replies, "but you're really wrong about the macaroni and cheese."
When they were little, it was so easy. You just held them, read them some Sandra Boyton, and all was good.
Now the questions are so hard and my vow to always tell them the truth gets harder and harder.