When I was very young, something about Santa Claus just did not sit right with me. We didn't have a chimney, and my parent's explanations did not fit for me. Flying reindeer seemed silly. Delivering presents the world over, while under the cover of darkness provided by a single night -complicated by time zones - was impossible. So, I pretended to sleep one Christmas Eve, and snuck downstairs just far enough to watch my parents put the presents under the tree, playing Santa. Ah, I thought, now this makes sense!
Later, at my Catholic grade school, I remember learning about Greek and Roman mythology, and I remember thinking it made about as much sense as Christianity. I remember questioning the nuns at my Sunday school (and getting kicked out) about the things that just didn't seem to fit for me. Where are the dinosaurs? How about evolution? And how the hell to you explain all those animals fitting on a wooden boat, and how did they not eat each other? Reasonable questions, I still think.
Those were the kind of questions I had on my mind, when in grade 8, I went to talk to my priest. For those unaware, this was to be the year of my Confirmation. This was a big deal, a ritual where one essentially swears his or her faith in God, promising a lifetime of devotion and loyalty. I did not like the idea of one day breaking my word, so I told that priest I had doubts. For me, much like Santa and the Easter Bunny, something about this god just did not fit.
And the priest said to me: "Don't worry about it. Just say the words and you should come around some day."
And with those words of wisdom, my already shaky faith crashed down around me, starting me on a path of discovery that would take years to complete.
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