Original Sin, Part 1 - The Confessional

There is a tiny room with one small window. Not a window that opens to look out, but one that opens to look within. As if the light pierced a stained-glass window and sliced right thru me. Illumination is not always pretty. The light is not always kind. But cold hard truths are something we all have to deal with. My Mom made me venture in. "You're big enough now that you don't have to sit in front of the priest. You can talk to him thru the window screen." I recall rolling my eyes. Just the thought of going in there made my skin crawl. The queasiness in my stomach. Beads of sweat forming on my palms. I was visibly scared. I didn't know what I should say. What exactly does an 8-year-old need to confess? What sins could I of possibly committed at that age? I was a little young to be smoking crack and sleeping with hookers. Plus I had forgot parts of the "Our Father" prayer. Would I get in trouble for that?

I dropped to my knees, slid the window screen open and began my anonymous confession. Beyond the screen Father John listened intensely. Our church was small and surely he knew who I was, hiding behind a patch of mesh. Recognizing the nervous jitter in my voice, he told me to take a deep breath and start again. He coached me along, asking leading questions. "Have you fought with your sisters? Have you said any naughty words?" Next thing I know, I find myself lying to the priest! I'm actually making-up sins to confess because I have few real sins to confess. That alone is surely a sin in itself. I could hardly breath in there and it wasn't because of claustrophobia. To say the room is just 6x8 is being generous. To Catholics, it is known as the Confessional. A place where you bare you soul. Confess your sins and ask for forgiveness. A form of emotional, mental and spiritual cleansing. Ironically, you will find the Confessional room beside the Holy Water. Even more ironic, not even the purest water can wash away original sin.

Nearly every religion has their own definition of what "original sin" is and is not. However, they seem to all agree on one thing - original sin is the first sin. I am not deeply religious. I don't pretend to be. I don't try to be. I don't even want to be. I was raised Catholic though. It's all that I've known. Although it's not all that I'm open to. Perhaps that statement right there is a sin? To look into other religions. To veer away from the Catholic church. The same church I don't even attend these days. Sometimes I don't know what I am. Obviously, I'm not a good Catholic boy. Apparently, there are many "sins" I have committed. Sins that I have carried with me well into my 20s. Sins that started when I was in the 2nd grade. Similar sins that have reoccurred throughout my childhood and into adulthood. Sins I've never before confessed. Sins I've never asked for forgiveness from. Not forgiveness from God or anything like that. Forgiveness from myself.

They are often in the back of my mind. In that unbearable lump I swallow in my throat. In the weight that lies on my shoulders, the weight I can't shrug off. I've seen their faces in my sleep. Maybe that is my punishment. For not speaking up. For not stopping it. For not doing something. Anything. Their cries for help were quieter than a whisper. Their pleas in fact were silent, but not unnoticed by me. It was just that I failed to act on what I witnessed. They didn't ask for help. Although they needed it. And I never offered it. I ignored the signs even though many of the signs were right in front of my eyes. Candid accounts I can't pretend didn't exist. Even if I close my eyes, I see them...and even more clearly. For years I pushed those memories down deep inside me, only later to find them resurfacing. In the form of a new face. With a new name. Same scenario. Rewind and repeat. I feel as if I'm watching my life on a film and I hate the role I played. The bystander.

Her name was Lela. That is where it began. The original sin.

to be continued...