Confirmation classes were a minefield of issues. We were not regular attenders at any church; my mother preferred to sample all religions, her selections based on good preaching. My father preferred to play tennis with Skibble, Ogden, and Bill. So when I proposed to attend confirmation classes toward the goal of joining the Episcopal Church, I was met with silence, and then a sigh for the extra driving it would require.

I was 12, the oldest of five kids, growing up in West Virginia. I can’t from this distance see what inspired me to do this. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.” Who wouldn’t respond to a clarion call like that, especially living in West Virginia? I didn’t like church all that much. I liked Snookie playing the piano and I liked singing. I liked Snork, the pastor and father of my friend Sally. I didn’t like the pious greeters who said, “So nice you could join us this Sunday (smile, smile).” And I was uncomfortable with the words in the Bible.

I really didn’t like Harry’s teasing of me, making fun of my shyness. But then again, I really did like his snarky remarks about confirmation class in confirmation class, and I laughed harder on the inside than I let out. Harry kept me coming to class, but Harry didn’t inspire me in the first place.

From this vantage point of 56 years later, I guess I wanted to belong. Harry was related to the smilers at the door, Snork was related to God, Snookie was related to Ogden. My family wasn’t related to anyone or anything. And at 12 I didn’t feel related to my family. The rest of the siblings were “the Little Kids” and my parents were Overbearing. In response to my announcement that I wanted to attend Confirmation Classes, they said, “It’s just a fad. You won’t stick with it.”

One day after class, I asked my mother why God was called God the Father? Why not God the Mother? Or God the It? She said that it was “just language,” just a way to talk about things, and not to worry about it. But I did worry about it. She said just put your own word in there if you don’t like Father. So I tried to substitute “Universe,” or “Nothing” or “Everything.”

“Make a joyful noise unto the Lord Lady Ruler President how about Gourd, all ye lands. Serve the Gourd with gladness: come before his its presence with singing.” Then we get to …”we are his its people, and the sheep nope don’t like that I’m not a sheep plants of his its pasture garden.”

To make a long painful story a short painful story, know ye that I translated for several decades. My prayers ran as smoothly as the above paragraph. Until one day I decided I was tired of translating and I threw out the baby King James with the bathwater Bible.

I finished communion classes. I joined the church. And I never went back. I didn’t feel I belonged even when I did.