In days of yore in a small village in Germany

In a vain attempt to snatch away the kids from the Catholics, some pentecostal church offered free day care for the little ones. My parents were kind of desperate to get rid of me at least sometimes, seeing how I was the worst little shit even I could think of. So, on a rainy autumn day they brought me to this “church” which was looking surprisingly like a community centre, and trusted these awfully nice people who were always smiling, with the apple of their eye.

Though my parents weren't too religious, I was rather well acquainted with all the stories about Jesus. And they were nice stories, though hardly very convincing to my little mind. So guess my surprise as suddenly all these people around me seemed to be really REALLY positive to be talking with god. Not wanting to be the one out, I immediately started telling everyone how just lately I had a nice chat with the big man, and how his angels had taken me home when I had grown tired of walking etcetera. They believed me. I couldn't believe it.

Now, the following weekend, we were back at the real church, the only church, the Catholic church. Not quite aware of the fine differences in religious exegesis between the various confessions, I just continued my stories where I had left. Here however, people didn't seem to be so accepting and encouraging of my statements. They listened, yes, but no ohs and ahs. Only the priest smiled at me with unencumbered glee. He bent down to me and with a hush, as if sharing a secret with me, asked if there was an angel present in the room right now. I answered in the affirmative. He nodded calmly, showing that he obviously had been suspecting this before.

Being really small then, I entirely forgot about this episode, until years later I became an altar boy. The priest welcomed me to the group, vaguely alluding to me being special in a way, but not going into any detail. The others didn't give it much thought, and I had long stopped talking about god at that time. It needs to be said that at the time I became an altar boy, I had long come to the conclusion that I couldn't believe in god. I had other reasons. But still, the priest always gave me a little wink, thinking I was his direct line to god, until he died some years later of a heart attack in front of the local toy shop's window. Who knows what he might have seen there...
( BringYourOwnParachute Meet me here on, Mon 5 Sep 2011, 17:35, Reply)