The first time I met someone who believes in God

My parents never mentioned God or any religion. Not necessarily atheist — nothing against. The subject just never came up.

I grew up across the street from a Catholic church. (440 South Clay Street in Hinsdale, Illinois.) Like any temple of a religion you’d heard nothing about, it had no meaning to me.

My best friend, Mark Hemstreet, lived next door. We were eleven years old, playing in the snow. I hit my hand on some ice and said, “God damn it.”

He looked at me, surprised, and said, “You took the Lord’s name in vain!”

I said, “Wait, are you kidding or serious?”

He said, “Serious!”

I thought he was straight-face kidding. I honestly didn’t know anyone believed in God. Because the subject had never come up, I thought God was just like Santa Claus. A sweet idea, but almost nobody over the age of eight actually literally believes it, right?

I said, “Wait, so do you believe in the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy?”

He looked scared and said, “Dude. This is serious. If you don’t believe in God, you’re going to turn into a locust on Judgement Day. They told us at Sunday School.”

I laughed and said, “Oh really? Well if they’ve got all the facts, then what kind of locust will I be? Will I stay this same size, or shrink down? How does that work? What are the details?”

He didn’t answer but was really concerned for me, and said, “You can’t joke about this stuff.”

Because that was my introduction to religion, I used to find them ridiculous. But now, as an amateur anthropologist, I’m trying to understand them all. See my next post on this subject.