In second grade, I dutifully put on my Saint Joseph's uniform every day for school. Right after we got the school and put away our jackets, backpacks, and lunches, the entire school attended Mass. I absolutely adored my teacher that year, Sister Jane Marie. This was the same year I decided that I wanted to be a nun. I loved talking with my teachers and felt I could connect with them better than with my classmates. I learned all my prayers with an enthusiasm you wouldn’t believe and couldn’t wait until my first confession and communion. I wanted to do all I could for Christ.

My parents had always told us, "Catholic schools are better! The children have morals and are brought up properly." This was one of the reasons I spent kindergarten through fifth grade in parochial school (other reasons being the fact that my parents are strict Catholics who wanted very much to share their faith with me and my three siblings). Despite this, I wish I had a dollar for every recess I spent in tears or every time I came home crying to Mommy because of the torment of classmates teasing me. My principal came into my class every now and then to reprimand the students in general and wound up telling me to show the other kids their teasing didn’t bother me and to later tell my parents I needed counseling because I had only a few friends.

One of my tormenters’ favorite games was "Jill Germs". This consisted of slapping the person next to them and declaring, "Jill germs, no returns!" When I tried to join in on my own teasing and show it wasn't bothering me, I was accused of starting it. I was reprimanded by the principal, and my pain only increased. I had a pin reading "Why be normal?" to show I was proud of being different. I was reprimanded for this, too. Maybe I was just a bratty kid; maybe it was my parents, maybe society. I don’t know and probably never will. But why would it matter? I had the best because I went to Catholic school!

To spare a lot of unnecessary detail, I transferred to a public middle and high school. Kids will be kids, and the teasing didn't stop completely, but the difference was amazing. And just to note: I'm not trying to say that parochial schools are horrible and that public schools are perfect. This was only my experience with the other thirty-nine kids in my grade.

Once in high school, all freshmen were required to take world history. Although I couldn't pass those same exams again to save my life, I do remember this. We studied how the Catholic church used to sell "indulgences" to its members. Basically, you paid the church for permission to or forgiveness from sins. We learned how Martin Luther took his concerns about the church to the elders and said, "I don't think this is right." Instead of explanations, changes, or answers to his concerns, he was excommunicated. In short, I had a lot of questions about my faith and I gave my CCD teachers quite a challenge that year as I looked for answers.

The thing was, the answers I got weren't good enough for me. I heard a lot of, "That's just one of God's mysteries" or the variation, "God works in mysterious ways." Their other favorite was, "The Catholic church is directly descended from Peter, who was guided by God Himself, and is the only true path." Other questions were put off over and over again and rarely would my teacher or the priest admit they just didn't know.

It was in late November or early December of 1992 that I stopped taking communion at Mass. (It was right after deer hunting - I didn’t want to offend my grandparents). I felt that because I was questioning Catholicism and wasn't sure I believed in it anymore, that it wasn't right for me to take part in such a special, strictly Catholic, ritual.

The following spring I told my parents, "If you keep making me go to CCD, I'll get myself kicked out. I don't want to go back."

"No you won’t, " they told me. " You’re going back to CCD."

But that fall, my Wednesday nights were free.

I started thinking that maybe I could be Christian, just not Catholic. My best friend Rikki and I made plans to go to different churches together. I still believed in God, it was the doctrine and unanswered questions I had the most difficulty with.

Rikki and I never got around to going to the churches, but I continued to pray. One of my biggest problems was that I didn’t understand why I had to go into a church to worship. God and why doing it somewhere else wasn’t okay instead of going to mass.

I wondered if Catholicism was the only true way, why did God allow the Lutheran, Methodist, Baptist, Presbyterian, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Judaism, Hinduism, and anything else I wasn’t aware of? I wanted to know why Jesus was Jewish but we were Catholic and how that was directly descended like my CCD teachers told me it was.

Eventually I realized with certainty I wasn’t Catholic anymore, then realized I wasn’t Christian. It was something inside of me that told me; something from lots of thought and prayer. I was so scared to tell my parents. I didn’t want to hurt them or have them yell at me. For a long time I didn’t say anything, but viewed myself as simply agnostic. I eventually started formulating a belief structure that included reincarnation, but excluded Satan and Hell. I believed that religion didn't have to be set in stone by the Pope and that one shouldn't have to go to church every week in order to be "saved".

Then one afternoon my little sister, my mom and I were sitting in my parents’ bedroom. I forget what we were talking about, but as I was about to leave, six or seven year old Vicki asked me if I was Christian. I could’ve lied to my Mom, but not to my sister.

"No," I told her. "I’m not."

"You’re not?!" my mom asked, shocked. I had already said it, but told her again. "No, I’m not."

I became overwhelmed with guilt as I thought she was going to cry.