Broken Promise

When I asked her to come live with me and be my love, she said she would, once we were married. I did not think much of marriage at the time but I decided it was in my best interest to comply with her stipulation. Then came the fine print. Forget about a Registry Office formality. She was from a full-on, Mass-every-Sunday Catholic family, which meant getting married by a priest in a Catholic church. What the hell, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. But when we met with the holy man things started to get complicated.

He asked me what Christian denomination I belonged to and, thinking it better not to let on that I was an atheist, I said I had been brought up a Methodist. From his expression it was clear that he regarded Methodists as a lesser breed. He refused to marry us if I did not swear to raise our children in the Catholic faith, should the Lord bless us with any offspring. The blood drained from my face with a gurgle and I had to gulp down several lungfuls of air before succumbing to his bullying tactics.

Once the nuptials were over it was without divine aid that I managed to impregnate my wife, and I did it again three years later, also without supernatural assistance. In the meantime, I sent my foolhardy vow into exile, hoping never to hear from it again. Then, when the children were old enough to be read to, it emerged from the shadows and addressed me with insolent familiarity. You are reading nursery rhymes and fairy tales to them, as well as telling them make-believe stories and deceitful nonsense about the tooth fairy, Father Christmas and the Easter Bunny. So when are you going to get started with the religious bullsh#t?

We bought some books: Christian Mother Goose Tales, Stories from the Bible, My First Book of Bible Stories and The Children’s Bible in 365 stories. They were illustrated in pastel colours and all the characters were lily white. The violence was toned down and the sex was largely expurgated or merely hinted at. With these books we were able to familiarise them with many of the better-known Bible stories.

They were baptised at an early age, which protected them from going straight to Hell should they meet a premature death. The next sacrament, after holy Communion, was Confirmation at the age of 13. Before that they were required to attend Catechism classes in order to learn about the basics of Catholic doctrine.

Yes, they were being brought up as Catholics, as I had promised. But well before they participated in the Confirmation ritual their power of reason caused them to lose their faith and they rejected my suggestion that they keep an open mind.

My wife, who, like many people raised as Catholics or Jews, has never taken religion all that seriously and I still do not know quite what she believes in. She did, however, accuse me of heavily influencing our daughter and son with my blasphemous ridiculing of Biblical content. In my defence, I said that it would have been dishonest of me to tell them that I believed in that baloney, and also that I had urged them to remain agnostic until they had reached intellectual maturity.

Now, when I take stock of my life and consider the foolish mistakes I have made, the bad decisions I have taken and the harm I might have inflicted, I cannot ignore the faint pang of guilt I feel at having broken my promise to the priest. However, I console myself with the knowledge that our children have kept their minds uncontaminated by nonsensical delusions and have developed into intelligent adults with sound morals.

Painting: My Nocturnal Visage by Ludwig Meidner

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