A few days ago I somehow ended up remembering an early chapter of the history of my life. I was just a little kid, about 7 or 8 years old, when my Catholic background required me to attend catechism lessons so I could receive my first Communion.
After some months of coming to the house of a weird lady who believed she could talk in tongues and used to do it in front of us kids, I was awarded the gift of salvation —eating the body of Christ— for the first time, but first I had to come clean and have my sins forgiven. Can I just take a moment to try to understand what kind of sins can a 7 year old child have? Sins? Really?
This phase asked me to confess my wrongdoings to a priest and had me thinking some days about the things I was supposed to say, but what could I have said? What could I have done in such a young age that would need the forgiveness of this never seen, invisible, sky-dwelling man?
I still remember the actual feeling I experienced when I was kneeling at church trying to make words come out of my tangled up throat. Feelings revolving in my head. Why was I feeling such things? I felt like a worthless being, a bad person, a weak and traumatized entity. But how? How and why do they make children of such a young age believe they are nothing but evil, hell-deserving humans?