How I Decided God Wasn't Real

I will say that while this story is true, it also happened over twenty-five years ago and time exaggerates almost everything. Without further ado though, let's set the stage...

I was about six, and having grown up in Vegas with parents who gambled a lot, I spent a substantial portion of my childhood in those childcare places inside said casinos. A staple of most of them, especially in the late nineties, were these huge jungle gyms that might as well have been Lord of the Flies when it was busy. No one was checking inside them unless a kid was screaming like they were dying, or if they were checking on us, I definitely don't remember.

It was early one day, and the childcare place was basically empty when I was dropped off so my mom could go spend some pocket money while my dad was off on business. As far as I knew, I had the jungle gym to myself. I was pretty sure I was the first kid there that day which meant that I was free to do what I pleased. I was there practically five days a week, and as such I was well known, and any adults tasked with watching me were doing whatever they were required to, secure in the knowledge that I could entertain myself without getting into mischief. After all I never really wanted to play with the other kids in the first place. As such I was putting my imagination to use in what was essentially a submarine that jutted from the side of the playground and would tilt back and forth when you moved.

I was obsessed with Disney movies and as such my imaginary villain was in the middle of their monologue while I was jailed in a terribly unstable tower, waiting for my chance to escape. I was being told about my imminent doom when another little girl around my age crawled into the room I was trapped in, rendering it once more just a neon colored submarine I'd been in hundreds of times before. She asked if we could play together, and since I was compulsively polite I agreed even if I didn't really want to.

Only before I could ask what she wanted to do, this little girl stops and looks at my wide-eyed and yelps, "Wait are you Christian?!"

I didn't really see why it mattered, but while we were not religious by any means, my mother had prepared me for this question. "No, my family is Catholic." I hadn't seen the inside of a church since before I could remember at that point, but my mom told me what to say and I was nothing if not good at following directions.

"Then we can't play together," this little girl insisted. "My mom said I can only play with other kids if they're Christian."

Unbothered, if not a little confused, I told her that was okay, but curiosity got the better of me and I asked her, "Why?"

I shouldn't have asked, we all know I that, but I did.

This child looked child-me dead in the eye and said, "Because you're going to Hell."

I was shocked and angry! I had been assured otherwise! She was clearly wrong, and I told her so. "That's not true! My mom said that as long as you're a good person, you get to go to heaven. Only bad people go to hell!"

"No. Only Christians get to go to heaven." She told me with all the confidence of someone who has too much faith to believe they could ever be wrong. "You're going to hell."

It strikes me now as an adult just how many times the word hell was said between two barely in school children, despite the fact that I know at least I'd been told it was a bad word. This conversation wasn't exactly normal, though. Still unwilling to be lied to, I went to leave. I'm sure this little girl saw her only chance to play with someone slipping away before her eyes, so she stops me. She frantically insists, "Wait! Maybe we can play together. Since you're Catholic, maybe you'll just go to purgatory instead of hell."

Of course maybe she was worried I would tell on her, but somehow I doubt it. Not once did she utter, "Don't tell." No, actually, it probably never even crossed her mind that she might get in trouble for what she was saying. Much like me, though to different ends, she was saying what her mom told her.

Anyway curiosity kept me in this conversation for far longer than it should have, but at this point I still believed in God. I just thought she was wrong about how heaven worked, so it continues.

"What's that?" I asked, even though I knew it wasn't heaven, so nothing she would have been satisfactory enough to get me to play with her.

"Purgatory is like nothing forever. It's where unbaptized babies go." She answered.

"That doesn't seem fair," I told her. I was very concerned with fairness at this age, and I didn't understand why she thought babies wouldn't go to heaven. They're babies! What had they ever done wrong? I had a loose grip on what death was, having been exposed to things like The Lion King and Bambi.

She kept talking, and talking, and I thought, and thought. I was sure she was wrong. I was positive that she was wrong. I was a good person, I'd also been baptized which made me think she didn't know what she was talking about. In any case why should I be punished forever because we didn't believe the same thing? Despite all of this, I didn't think she deserved to go to hell, I was pretty sure she was just confused. What happened to the golden rule?

About then I tuned back in as she said, "...we can play together since you're just going to go to purgatory. Maybe you can promise to be Christian, and you'll get to go to heaven then."

"No," I told her, shaking my head. "We better not play together. Your mom would be mad, you might get in trouble." Then I crawled out of the play submarine, leaving her there alone. I hurried downstairs, intent on telling the first adult I saw that this little girl told me I was going to go to hell.

As I climbed down, my six-year-old brain started working overtime. I was sure that I was right, but she clearly thought she was right. Actually, I knew that other people believed other things too. Some people were Jewish, because I'd been taught about Hanukkah. Then there was being Christian, and then Catholic, which I wasn't entirely sure how it was different.

That's when it clicked in my brain.

Not everyone could be right, and it was just as unlikely that only one group was right, so everyone must have been wrong.

I had gotten to the ground by this point, but there wasn't one adult in sight to consult.

I stopped walking, and it solidified in my brain. God just wasn't real. It didn't really matter that she'd told me I was going to hell because she was wrong. It was like the few times kids tried to call me names. I wasn't any of the things they said either. They were wrong, and so none of it mattered.

Sticks and stones, as my mom would say.

So instead of finding an adult, I went off to see what movie was playing in the movie room. I was content with the knowledge that her words couldn't hurt me because she was wrong. It perhaps wasn't the most logical argument. It's probably not what my mom envisioned when she taught me that saying, but I was six. I was a six-year-old who had made a decision that had fixed my own problem, and I didn't have to bother an adult by telling on someone.

This all stuck with me though. It stuck with me, but I didn't tell anyone for a long time. I was keenly aware that it would hurt the feelings of any adult I told. They'd be sad for me, so I didn't say a word. In fact, I didn't tell anyone until I was a teenager, and then it was shared among friends, laughing because it was a wild story. Two basically six-year-olds debating about whether one of them was going to get to go to heaven because some religious mom told her kid only to play with other Christians. The only time I told an adult was when I finally was one, because I've had cause to explain why I also don't do religion.

In fact, my parents still don't know, and they probably never will. Why upset them? I decided when I was six that it didn't matter. It wasn't tragic. I've had quite a few laughs because of this little girl that stopped me from believing in God faster than I stopped believing in Santa. I'm not hurt.

I just don't believe.