On Sunday Emma wanted to go to church so I let her. But it wasn't as simple as it sounds.
A couple of months ago, after years of on and off church-going, I finally came out to the kids.
"Guys," I said, as we were gathered around the kitchen table. The kitchen table is where we disclose most things to each other, even if we're not eating. In fact, for digestive purposes, and the speaker's safety, it's best. For instance, if I'd confided in them at dinner that night, they might have spit forkfuls of potatoes at me when I said, "I don't believe in organized religion."
But since they weren't eating, they just opened their eyes wide and looked confused.
"What do you mean?" Claire said. "Does that mean you don't believe in God?"
"No, that's not what that means."
"Does that mean you're not Chrsitian?" Emma asked.
"Well, I don't know. But I know for sure that I believe in loving God, and loving others as you love yourself."
"What does THAT mean?" Christopher asked.
"Well-"
"So we're not going to church?" Emma asked.
"Are we not having Christmas???" Claire hollered.
The others gasped.
"Of course we'll still have Christmas," I assured them.
"Because Christmas is about love," Emma told me. "And you said you believe in love, right Momma?"
"Of course I believe in love. I just don't believe that I need to be part of a church to love God."
"But that's where God is," Emma said.
"God's everywhere, honey. Look, I've just never been part of a religion where I totally agree with what they say. Some things, I don't agree with at all, and I don't want to be hipocritical. I love God, I love others, and I love myself. That's it. That's as honestly as I can live and I want to teach you guys that. I don't want to teach you a bunch of stuff that I don't believe just for the sake of being part of a religion."
"So, just to make sure, we're still having Christmas, right?" Claire asked.
The conversation went on like this. I was trying to talk to them from these basic principles that I've decided to maintain throughout my parenting: never underestimate a child's intelligence, teach them honesty by being honest about who I am, and always be honest without being cruel. These things, noble as they sound, don't make things easy. It wasn't easy for them to accept that I have a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend, even though they've known what homosexuality is since they were little. And it wasn't easy for them to hear what my past wishy-washy commitment to church had already led them to suspect - I don't believe in it.
But after we talked a while, Christopher and Claire seemed comfortable. They said they didn't like church anyway. I told them that that wasn't my point. It's not that I don't want to go because it's boring. I don't want to go because I don't believe in the Bible, which all Christian religions are based on and I feel like a hipocrit standing there in a pew.
We haven't been to church in a few months. But this past Sunday Emma woke me up, and told me she wanted to go back.
"Momma?" she said, settling on the side of my bed. "Momma, you awake?"
(Snort, grunt) "Huh?" I asked, peering at her through half shut eyes eyes.
She grinned in my face. "Mom! You're awake!"
"Mmm," I groaned, closing my eyes again.
"Here, I brought you some coffee," she went to my dresser and carefully lifted a full mug with both hands. She stepped gingerly across the room, and I sat up realizing what she was doing, and that coffee (coffee that I might drink) might spill. Coffee and the prospect of drinking it is what gets me up in the morning. The girl knows this.
"Momma," she said, passing over the cup. "I want to go with Dicey to church."
Dicey is what they called my youngest sister Stephanie, who is a devoted Christian. My oldest came up with the nickname when she was a toddler, which we've never understood because it sounds nothing like "Aunt Stephanie" but we went along with it anyway.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because," she moaned, and I thought that might be the end of it. But then she went on. "Because when I go there I feel all good inside. They're all happy to see me and they talk about love and it feels good. And I get to see families and daddies, and the daddies are so nice."
I try not to wince when she says stuff like that. I don't know if I did. It was so early that I was barely keeping up with the conversation. I sipped the coffee. She had made it just the way I like it - extra milk, no sugar.
"Please, Momma," she said.
"All those things you said about feeling good inside and feeling loved - those are the things that people are supposed to feel at church."
"Yeah! I want to go!"
"I know. And you like seeing the daddies there?"
She lowered her eyes. "Yes."
She hasn't been getting along with her own dad lately.
I nodded. "Just promise me that you'll remember that you like church because you love God and you love people. It doesn't have to be more complicated than that. It can be simply about love."
She beamed. "I will."
Lucikily I saw the hug coming and I put the coffee down. She hugged me tight and told me she loved me.
This is something she wants and needs to experience. I've told Emma my truth. This is hers.
But she's 10, and she's impressionable, and I'm supposed to guide her until she's old enough to make her own decision about things. This is also a truth. And this is a church that supports banning things like Halloween and Harry Potter books. And according to them I'm going to burn in hell. And she's looking at me and saying, "Please, Momma, this makes me happy and feel loved."
So how do I feel about all of this? What do I think? What am I going to tell her, and am I going to be wishy washy AGAIN and say "On second thought, honey, I don't think that church is a good idea. Yes, I know it makes you happy but I know what's best for you and letting you go some place where you feel loved, but I also think you'll be brainwashed and that is not something I'm comfortable with?"
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fucking fuckity fuck. And that is also a truth.
