How To Raise an Atheist (2)

This entry is part of a series. You might want to read part 1, before diving into this one.

The summer between 4th and 5th grades was an intense one. A Reading and a Maths school book had somehow materialized in my meager 10-year-old self’s library, and they were ever so keen to get to know me in a more intimate way… That is to say, my mom was trying to cram them down my throat and I was busy thinking up avoidance techniques.

School books for 2nd grade¹ .

The first day of middle school, left quite a horrified imprint on my tender 11-year-old life. I couldn’t understand a word during history and geography classes. Understandably under such dire circumstances, the impending “menace” of religious education classes sort of slipped my mind. That is until a pesky little paper slip had made its presence known, asking about students’ religious denomination.

As usual, my mom had done her research, and found out that while religious education was no longer optional, one could choose to attend a different class. So yet again, there was the oddball, whose paper slip looked like:

Of course, just because we had a law that said “Thou shall either attend religious education or civic education classes in middle school” did not in any way mean there was an actual school equipped with a civic education teacher²… In other words, my mom seemed to be the only one to know about such a law…

Sure enough, the next day a perplexed Mathematics teacher started class with:

Teacher: One of your parents wrote “civic education” on the paper slip…

Cue excited murmurs and not-so-subtle staring at random classmates.

Teacher: I don’t know where this parent heard about such a thing, but we don’t have it.

I had never been so glad to be a new kid in my entire life. Nobody knew me, and the flashing neon sign stating “I am a heathen atheist” had finally gotten lost in the mail. Oh and best of all: I got to attend religious education classes! :yay:

Oddly enough, I barely remember anything about 5th grade religious education classes. Someone had recommended the Greek Catholic rite teacher, so that’s what I ended up attending…

I remember my 6th grade much better though. The teacher was called Leonia Conea, and she took the class extremely seriously. Not that other teachers didn’t… it’s just that there was this sort of tacit understanding that while religious education was important, one could not possibly put it on the same level as say, Maths or Literature.

Orthodox icon shop, in Greece.³

It was also during 6th grade that I had seen my first Greek Catholic liturgy⁴, and had promptly decided that I’d never get baptized in this rite. -_-;

I had gone to both Reformed worship services and Roman Catholic masses during primary school and had actually quite enjoyed both of them⁵ . While Roman Catholic and Protestant services generally have the priest/minister speak about one subject or another… Orthodox and Greek Catholic services have them sing about it. :shake:

For your viewing pleasure, below you have a 3 minute video of a Greek Catholic liturgy in Romanian. As far as I’m concerned, the whole thing looks the same only it lasts an hour, instead of 3 minutes.⁶

It was during 7th grade that I had started to take a more … active approach in my religious education. Our teacher was a very pretty and very friendly young woman⁷, who was much more approachable than any teacher I had ever met.

… and she taught us about the sacrament of baptism. If I hadn’t been such a typical goody-two-shoes, I believe my neon sign with the “heathen atheist” claim would’ve surely made a spectacular comeback and taken someone’s eye out on the way as a bonus. I think I must’ve stopped the teacher every five minutes with a barrage of questions. After class, having been thoroughly freaked out by the implication of the lack of baptism, I of course made a bee line to the teacher to tell her about my… situation.

At the time, I had a sort of love-hate relationship with a classmate. She was constantly trying to push my buttons, but as soon as I got seriously mad at her, she’d instantly change tactics so we’d be all “bosom friends” once again. Just enough to throw me off balance, and then the spiel would start up again.

As soon as she saw me approach the teacher, she literally glued herself to me and refused to move.

Me: I’d like to have a private talk with you if possible.
Teacher: Yes of course.

We both turned to the girl and looked at her pointedly. She gave us a wide smile and generously urged us to continue.

Girl (grinning manically): I wanna hear it too!
Teacher: Really, have a bit of respect for your classmate.
Girl (still sporting the manic grin): I’m not leaving. I want to know too.
Me (whining): Oh come on…
Girl: No way! I wanna know!

Against my better judgement and mostly because recess was threatening to end⁸ I let the girl hear the story.
Apparently, my 13-year-old self was an open book complete with explanatory footnotes, as the teacher did not appear to be at all phased. I do still greatly appreciate her kindly answer “Oh I suspected something along those lines “.

I don’t exactly remember what I had hoped to achieve by telling the teacher all this. Plus, she was soon replaced by a different teacher⁹ ; letting the girl know about my lack of baptism was the singular worst decision of my entire middle school life.

Being different to everyone else, I was always intensely susceptible to any mean remark… always on tenterhooks that something awful would be discovered about me and then it would be all over¹⁰. I tended to cry a lot over nothing, which of course was a weakness one of the boys was ever so happy to exploit. And the girl… oooh, she just loved to blackmail me.

I don’t remember what we were fighting about anymore, only that I was cleaning the blackboard while she stood by and wanted to me to do something…

Girl (showing her trademark manic grin): Do it or I’ll tell him you’re not baptized.
Me (gritting my teeth): No you won’t…
Girl: Don’t try my patience…
Me (unconvincingly): You wouldn’t dare… You promised!
Girl: So what? Do it, or I’ll tell the whole class¹¹.
Me (firmly): No!

Still grinning, the girl turns around and speaks up, getting everyone’s attention.

Girl (smugly): Hey guys! Guess what? Vera’s not baptized!

People stare at her nonplussed, while some murmur something along the lines of “yeah, right…”. Clearly frustrated, the girl then turns to my main tormentor, stressing my lack of baptism again.

Guy (rudely): Have you recently hit your head? :huh:
Girl (nearly hysterical by now): I swear she’s not!
Guy (turning to me): What church were you baptized in?
Me (heart hammering a mile per second): I… don’treallyremember.
Guy (to the girl): You’re a basket case, you know?

When I recall the events now, I feel extremely giddy about it all. It was one of the few times I had managed to get the clear upper hand over her. My 13-year-old self however, was a tad bit too busy getting a heart attack to fully appreciate the irony of it all. *_*

The rest of my 7th grade was marked by my futile attempts of converting my parents.

Me: He exists!
Dad (gamely): Ok… if you prove it, I’ll believe you.
Me (glaring): …

Me: Just look at *insert random daily event* It’s clear that God had a “hand” in it.
Dad: Coincidence.

Vera stomps away to get more “ammo”, and the battle resumes the next day.

Interaction with my mom were even more frustrating. She’d be all logical and gently prodding. Things generally ended up circling the subject of “Do you think I’m a bad person?”. Obviously, I never had an adequate response to that.

I don’t think my parents have ever been hounded as much by traveling Jehova’s Witnesses either, and they used to be quite the persistent ones. XD

It was during 8th grade that my faith changed, not by much, but it would influence the way I’d see things for a long time… Sometimes I think the effects still last.

To be continued in part 3…

In the unlikely event that you’ve managed to follow me this far, feel free to add your own .02 cents. You can of course comment even if you just skimmed through it. Just as long as you’re not trying to sell me something. :B

1. Original picture from Bucurestii de altadata, couldn't find images for the 4th grade ones I used. [↩]
2. Classic example of Romanian bureaucracy in all its glory. :nod: [↩]
3. FTR, I'm the one who took the picture in 2008, when I went to Greece on holiday. [↩]
4. The term used for religious mass by the Orthodox and Greek Catholic rites. [↩]
5. … except for the part where you had to sing the religious hymns: it always seemed that I was the only one not knowing the lyrics. :suspicious: [↩]
6. Yes I am in fact a sadist, why do you ask? :B [↩]
7. Who had recently given birth and had us girls constantly coo over the lovely name Carina that she had chosen for her little girl. [↩]
8. I was constantly stressed about being even half a millisecond late to class: everybody would just stare at me and…. and… :suspicious: [↩]
9. So I had to tell the whole story again… this time, thankfully without the impertinent peanut gallery present. [↩]
10. Every 13-year-old is a drama queen, what makes you think I was any different? [↩]
11. Ironically, only about half the class was taking the subject. We had a few classes where we’d be separated into groups, so the teacher could better follow each of our progress. [↩]