Thursday, November 17, 2011
Flash forward to maaaany years later: I got into Wicca, but I didn’t practice strictly or anything like that. In fact, as time goes on, I have found myself rather disconnected from a good deal of it. I describe myself as “Pagan with a dash of ‘Why bother’?” because I look around at the world and all of the truly horrible things that go on, and I sincerely have trouble believing in much of anything other than the fact that people are pretty fucked up.
When it comes to the kids, it’s a challenge, especially since nobody in the family shares my “faith” (if it can even be called that). Thankfully, they aren’t against it, either. (Not entirely, anyway, but wait, okay?) Anyway, teaching the girls will definitely be rather tricky: I want them to be able to be exposed to different religions so that they can choose what’s right for them – if anything, that is – but finding a way to go about that hasn’t been easy, and it sure as hell hasn’t been at the top of my To-Do List.
And that’s when my mom stepped on my toes by giving Midget a copy of The Bible and talking about God.
Without my permission.
Without Jeremy’s permission.
Without even mentioning it to either of us before doing it.
She told me about it after the fact and even gave me my own Bible to, IDK, mull over? Maybe she’s hoping to sway me back to the proverbial light? Because she was extremely vocal about disagreeing with my particular brand of spirituality: She shouted that it was “Devil shit,” and “evil,” and the like. (On the flip side, my dad was oddly supportive; he’ll even makes good-natured jokes about crystal balls and patchouli – it’s awesome.)
So, now, Midget has a Bible that I have tried to keep away until at least a little later (because we all know how frustrating it can be to explain anything remotely complex to small children) but she keeps finding the fucking thing and asking questions that I don’t feel that I can even begin to explain at this point in her life.