by Heather Hogan

Created on: April 08, 2009

I was raised in the Catholic Church. Let me clarify what being raised in the Catholic Church in my family meant. We attended mass on Easter and Christmas. We were sent to CCD classes until we made first holy communion, confession and confirmation. Still to this day I have no clue what the letters CCD stand for. I will let you know what I did at CCD class. I caused hell.

Remember, I was a very wild and an undisciplined child. Mom died, dad drank, and Heather ran her own show. I would show up for CCD never listen and bother the nice mother who volunteered to teach us about the bible and God. Back when I was attending CCD we met at houses not at the church. Twice I started food fights with the snacks that were prepared for us and was sent home. The other times I just paid no attention and learned nothing.

First communion meant I got to pick out a lovely white gown and tiara. I pretended I was getting married and Prince Charming was going to rescue me from my home and father. Damn him, the prince never showed up. Confession was a bit more difficult. I remember when they asked me if I would like to face the priest with my sins or hide behind a screen. I thought they were nuts, who would choose to face the priest?

I was nervous the entire week before I was sent off to talk to a man that I did not know and confess my sins while kneeling in the dark staring at a screen. How haunting is that for a child. Especially a child that thought she was doomed for pain and suffering the rest of her life. And truly believed she was cursed. Oh, I thought do I admit that I want to stab my father, strangle my step-mother and then die to join my mother in heaven. If I said that would the priest behind the screen magically appear in front of me and tie me up while throwing holy water all over my body while simultaneously chanting hosana to the highest.

I faked sick the morning I had to confess my deepest secrets. It didn't work. That day my father decided to be sober and dragged my butt to the priest. Before I exited the car I asked my dad why didn't he go in and confess all of his sins. Why doesn't he go in and tell the priest what he has done to me mentally and physically. Well, I was sent off the priest with a swift slap on the back of my head. I am sure he wanted to slap my face, but that would have left a red mark.

I sat there and told the priest I hit my little brother, called my sister names, and talked back to my dad. Surprise, I was forgiven and sent off on my way. I felt betrayed

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