I remember laying in bed as a kid, my mother sitting on the edge, almost forcing me to say my prayers before going to sleep. Her soft mumbles of “our father, who art in heaven” and some “amens” would always garner the same (internal) reaction from me. That most of the time being: “Why do I have to do this? Seems useless”. Being in church the following morning only helped these thoughts fester. The hour of the worst singing you'll ever hear in your life, communion wafers that taste like homework, itchy clothes, and the gag-inducing smell of incense made it one of my least favorite experiences each week. Fast forward about give or take 10 years, I'm sitting on the floor of my nanas living room with the rest of my extended family waiting to start the first day of this year's Novena. This was probably the fifth or sixth time again being forced to complete this nine-day prayer to the oh-so-wonderful “Santo Nino de Atocha”. Except this was the first time when I had been completely certain about my lack of desire to be present.

The topic of indoctrinating children backfiring is a rarely explored idea. A girl that was baptized in the same church her parents were wed, receiving her first communion and confirmation ending up being antireligious is just not something many would bet on. On the whole, as I learned more and more about some of the most followed religions in the world, the less defendable they became. Why defend a church that wouldn't dare defend me? 

Praise be to God, but don’t get your hopes up.