I come from a family that went to Mass every Sunday. No questions. And it wasn’t like school where you could complain of a stomach flu and maybe get to stay home. To get out of going to Mass, you had to vomit up a spleen at least. We were hardcore Mass goers every Sunday. My Mom even shockingly went on other days (gasp!) when it wasn’t even a law that you had to go.

When I did something wrong, my mother dragged me to Confession. I was dragged there a lot- so often that I think some of the priests started scheduling it into their day.

As unlikely as it seems in such a family, I had my very first crisis of faith when I was only eight years old while training to be an altar boy. A little young, you might think, but I was always advanced when it came to tearing things apart. It occurred mainly because I was the dumbest kid to ever become an altar boy.

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