My First Confession

Mama Kat wants to know our confessions at Writer's Workshop.

These are my confessions♪  (Usher)

It was the day of my first confession, a ritual of passing in the Catholic religion where you learn at an early age that you can sin, as long as you're prepared to tell the old guy in the white collar what you did. I was 7 and scared to death. There were hundreds of us kids in a giant room waiting for our turn to confess our big sins to the priest of our choice. I chose Father Mike, he was the younger of the priests, and, always seemed to be happy, and well, he was really the lesser of the evils.

My mother has never liked crowds. Whether it's shopping or theme parks, if it means waiting around in a crowd of people, she wants nothing to do with it. Waiting to confess was like waiting to get into a haunted house at Halloween. You knew you had to stand in line, and wait your turn only so you could get into this scary place that you couldn't wait to get out of.

I was content to wait. I stood there formulating my list in my mind. I would tell him of the lies I told, the bad words I said. I would spill my guts about putting glue in the cootie girl's hair, and about stealing that quarter from my Mom's room to buy candy. I was ready. I would tell father Mike everything.

My mother, had a different idea. She quickly grew tired of waiting, and seeing the much shorter line at the Pastor she insisted that I go see him. I stood firmly in place. No way was I going to see that guy! He was old and mean, and he smelled funny! No way, un-huh! I'm staying right here!

With a strong hand on the back of my little 7 year old neck, I found myself getting closer and closer to the Pastor. I could just sit down and refuse to move, but with all these kids in here, someone would see and, and next thing I knew, "Father, this is my first confession, I um, didn't always listen to my mother."

That was it. If she wanted me to confess to him, I would just not tell him everything! Nothing about the cootie girl, or stealing, or saying bad words, or lying, nope, none of that, just a disobeyed my mother.

So, here's my confessions:
At my first confession, I didn't really confess, I thought bad thoughts of the priest smelling bad, I lied, and I plotted against my mother with my scheme to not confess all...

But, it's her fault, I'm not sorry! I was seven and she made me go to the scary guy! Maybe she needs to confess her sins! She can start with, "Father, I confess, I made my daughter go to the scary priest because I'm selfish and couldn't just be patient and wait in line!"

Cry little sister, thou shall not fall♪  (Gerard McMann)

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