Merry Christmas, I’m an Atheist

By: Carlos Aguilar

When Devin Laughlin, the antagonist of a story I wrote almost four years ago, was questioned by one of his bandmates regarding the absence of a cross necklace that he usually donned, he replied:

“I don’t know. I guess I just decided that I can’t buy into religion and God, after all, you know? Like, it all sounds so far-fetched. Granted, science is far-fetched as well, but that at least has evidence. Or does it not? Look, it’s like I said. I don’t know. Maybe my whole upbringing was a lie. Maybe I just don’t believe in God like I thought I did.”

Traumatic experiences made this character bring his values into question, including what he held to his heart religiously. If this was all just a make-believe scenario for a book, then why did it feel like these words resonated with me? Why did I stop and glare endlessly at the Word document? Was I really telling myself that these doubts about religion actually made sense to me?

My parents have instilled the values of Catholicism in me since birth. The oldest photos taken in our first apartment showed framed pictures of Jesus Christ looming over us, right next to my dad’s poster of Hulk Hogan. Years later, around the time that I was 4 years old, my dad would read me stories from a children’s Bible filled with colorful illustrations depicting tales such as when Adam and Eve decided that they liked apples and when Noah broke into the industry of animal sheltering. He made sure I understood that these stories were different than the ones he would read for me from my “X-Men” comics. Everything in the Bible really did take place. All of it. “Wolverine” isn’t real, but God is.

 After every story, my dad would put the book back onto a nightstand and recite a prayer that he taught me to memorize word-for-word. I believed in God and didn’t question any of these teachings. What reason did I have to do so at such a young age?

 Ironic, is it not? My dad used stories to lecture me about our religion, and 15 years later, it was my own story that brought me to this point. Sitting in the middle of a Starbucks two days before Thanksgiving, asking myself, “What am I?” If I wasn’t Catholic, then I needed to be something. Logically, I’d be an atheist, but that word sounded so dirty to me then. I had been told time and time again by my dad that anyone who didn’t believe in God was lost or dumb, or something of equal disparagement that’s not ultimately true.

The more I thought about my discovery over the next few weeks, the more I realized that I had checked out of Catholicism and all religions long before that moment. I couldn’t tell you the last time I read my Bible. I couldn’t remember the prayer my dad taught me. I hadn’t even stepped into a church since January 2005. The most I ever put my religion on display was through an orange wristband that had “Matthew 19:26” written on it, but truthfully, I just liked the color. Continuing to call myself a Catholic was an insult to actual practicing Catholics. 

OK, so I’m an atheist. There wasn’t any way I could deny that, and I reached a point where I didn’t feel like I needed or wanted to. In some ways, it made me proud of myself because I was able to make a decision all on my own without anyone’s influence. It ignited this strange sensation of freedom that I can’t explain, but at the same time, it frightened me. Was this something I could be open about, or would I need to keep my lack of faith bottled inside of me, never to be expressed to those around me? It was a real thought that crossed my mind because I had never met another atheist before. In my area, it might’ve been a culture shock to somebody if I told them that I didn’t believe in God. I worried that I’d be looked at as an outcast, and that was the last thing I wanted.

Even so, it soon reached a point where the weight of keeping my atheism to myself was becoming overbearing. I needed to talk to somebody about it. I just wanted to get everything off my chest because I needed to know if there was any hope for me to be treated like a normal person. After all, that’s what I am. I just happen to have different religious beliefs than other people.

 Ultimately, I decided that I would tell my mom. She was the most readily available person for me to share this information with, and even if she were to be upset with me in the short-term, I didn’t feel that it would hinder our relationship forever. The biggest hurdle was pushing myself to be able to do so. I needed to figure out the right time to tell her, so naturally, I chose Christmas.

 My mom and I headed toward the nearest Jack in the Box since no other chain around us was open on the holiday. I put my headphones in and pretended to listen to music when in actuality, I was trying to formulate a plan for opening up to her about this secret. The scenery of a dark sky and vacant roads strangely made for the apropos scenario, as if it was just the two of us with no one around to hear or see me pour out my heart that some would argue I don’t have because of these newfound beliefs.

 We pulled into the drive-thru, and as our orders were being prepared, I went ahead and took the plunge that I had been dreading.

“I need to tell you something.”

“…. OK… What is it?”

“I’m… an atheist.”

“Oh. I thought something bad happened.”

That’s all that happened. I allowed overthinking to consume me for a month, letting every worst-case scenario play out in my head. I thought there was a chance I could be disowned, or kicked out, or at the very least scolded in a way I had never been before. I asked my mom if she was mad and she asked why would she be.

 “A lot of people don’t believe in God. It doesn’t make them bad people,” she said, which completely surprised me to hear from someone who raised me with Catholic beliefs.

That confession to my mom allowed me to become more open about my lack of religion. Since then, every one of my friends I’ve been able to tell has not treated me any differently than they did before. I don’t go around to every corner of the world shouting to the skies that I’m an Atheist, but whenever anyone happens to ask, I answer them honestly. That level of acceptance means the world to me, and it makes me all the more comfortable to walk in my own skin.

 As for my dad’s reaction? I’ll let you know when he finds out.