Growing up with religious indoctrination in a rural community, I was quite smitten with the "good word". It made sense. It also applied itself
perfectly to the need for righteousness and fairness that is probably inherent in any naive young person.
As I reached the ripe age of ~12 years, I began to have doubts.
Why would the good lord let the # happen that I started being aware of around me?
Was all that normal?
Is being almighty not impossible?
It took my grandfather dying and witnessing all the evil relatives swooping down like winged rats to finally make me see the light.
His death was not instant but also not extremely long and drawn out. At least I don't believe so, there is, after all, a special relationship of a
young consciousness and time. I do not remember many details from that time of my life but one thing has and will always be stuck in my mind. My room
was right next to his and I spent as much time with him in there, as I could. I always felt it was _our_ room.
There were all kinds of wonders in there. My grandpa was a miller and a self-taught electrical engineer. He was so far ahead of everyone in our
one-horse town, its not even funny. He loved to make his own electric motors, disassembling and rewinding them to the specifications he needed,
building winding rigs on the way. There was a whole 15 by 10 foot (5 by 3 meters) room with open lead-acid aquarium-style batteries for backup power
on the ground floor of the house.
Then, one day, I was not allowed to go into his room anymore. He had become sick, although I did not realize. I had always thought, he would be there
forever, as young people do. The one thing I will always remember is when I peeked into his room and saw him lying there, his skin was yellow and taut
over his face. His mouth was open and his eyes closed. After that I was afraid to even go near the door. A few days later (Really not sure about the
time frame) he died.
For the funeral my parents dropped me off at the house of some relatives who were very religious. Why, I don't know, but I always had a strong
aversion towards these people. I might have just been scared of them because I had a hard time dealing with strangers or for lack of a better word
'new' people. I acted out and ran away but was found in short order.
When we went back home, after a while, I began to explore the room where my grandfather had died, always having a look at the spot where I had seen
his dying face. I found, among many things that children will find weird and strange, some old and well used books. There were bibles and hymnbooks
just like I imagine all the folks growing up at the beginning of the 20th century had. They might have been his wifes (She died fairly young)
I don't know if my grandpa was a religious man. He never told me anything about his beliefs. He never said I would go to hell or heaven for something
I would do. If he was a believer, he kept it to himself. Why, I will never know.
One thing I can say for certain: He never forced his view of the world on me.
It might have been the way he was brought up, attaching import to other matters, he might have not cared at all, I like to think he wanted me to find
out for myself.
And I did.
edit on 7-1-2013 by uroeger because: typo