Santa Claus isn’t the only fairy tale adults teach their children

Editor’s note: This blog is part of a series of first person essays about identity written by UTEP honors students during the spring 2013 semester.

For as long as I can remember, we were at the church building every time the doors opened. Most families go to church once, sometimes twice a week. As the son of a Southern Baptist minister, our family was there a minimum of three times each week, and sometimes more often.

Church life was part of who we were and a defining aspect of our identity.  Like most children, my sister and I didn’t question it.  Only recently did I reveal my atheism to my mother, and it was after my father passed away. My mother and I have had one relatively cordial discussion about my lack of faith, but I can tell it is a source of pain to her. My sister still attends church.

The houses I grew up in were full of song and music about God and Jesus. There were also a few secular songs as well deemed okay–meaning rated “G” by my parents–such as classic children’s songs or music from Disney movies. Even those eventually became suspect. I’ll never forget my mother’s disapproving reaction when Walt Disney decided to release a “PG” rated film instead of another for general audiences. Oh, the horror!

When the movie “Ghostbusters,” was released I was 12 years old.  We begged mom to take us to see it. It was a big hit and the previews on TV, which we had watched together, looked funny and cool. Mom finally relented.  With the exception of one scene that scared my sister, I enjoyed it so much I grinned from ear to ear the entire movie. Later, I asked if I could save up my allowance and buy the “Ghostbusters” video game.  Video games were just becoming popular, and were all the rage for boys my age.

Unfortunately, my mother did not share my enthusiasm and refused my request. “Why not?” I asked, not understanding her response. “It’s demonic!” she said, fear flashing in her eyes. I didn’t understand why something so obviously make-believe and that poked fun at the supernatural could be dangerous. I pouted and proceeded to play the game anyway when I went to the homes of my friends, whose parents were more lenient. This was the beginning of my erosion of trust in religion as a guiding principle. There were other disagreements which shook my beliefs, but this one ate away slowly at my faith.

From an early age, it had been hammered home to me that the supernatural was evil and very real; there was a battle going on for my soul at every moment. Satan and his demons were devious and tricky, and if I gave them a foothold, they would take it and slowly corrupt and devour me from the inside out until I became a servant of evil and the dark powers. I was told to stay in the light, to avoid the trappings and temptations of darkness –synonymous with evil to my mother–and everything would be okay. The only problem is that, like most kids when told not to do something, I had an insatiable curiosity and wanted to understand from all angles. Thus, I explored the hidden and forbidden things whenever I had a chance at a friend’s house, or hidden from my parents’ view.

Over time, I learned how to discern superstitious beliefs from ones grounded in evidence and reason. I learned that adults tell fairy tales to children because they like to pretend there is a benevolent, magical world full of Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. My parents saw no harm in sharing these imaginary friends with me, and I saw no harm in playing along even after I knew they weren’t real. It didn’t occur to me until I was older that Santa Claus & friends weren’t the only fairy tales parents tell their children.

As a teenager, I rejected the belief system of my parents as I learned to use reason and logic to sharpen my mind and to filter information through these very important rational tools; quite a contrast from my parents who used the Bible and church teachings to filter out information that challenged their beliefs.

Initially, these challenges were inside me and I did not openly speak about them for fear of being punished or reprimanded. I had noted on more than one occasion that when I challenged a belief rooted in religion – “Mom, where does God get his authority from?”– She grew dangerously angry, so I knew to keep things mostly to myself. This persisted until my teenage rebellion got the better of me, and on occasion I began openly challenging my parents’ conservative beliefs, rapidly becoming the source of conflict in an otherwise peaceful home.  I grew my hair as long as I could get away with, pierced my ear –which resulted in a talk about “unhealthy things”– listened to loud heavy metal music and argued with my parents about almost everything. Like most teens, I pushed the boundaries as far as I could.

Somehow, my family managed to survive my teenage years without any permanent physical or emotional scars.  I was still required to attend church every Wednesday and on Sundays, but I was no longer a believer. I just smiled and nodded like most people did, secretly wondering if they harbored the same sorts of doubts ; wondering why, for example, the church population was not representative of the racial, ethnic, politically and economically diverse community of Nashville where I lived.  Our church was 95 percent white, middle to upper class and politically conservative.

Above all, I wondered why my parents could not let go of their religious beliefs until I realized that most folks are the same way. As we go through life, most of us give up believing in fairy tales but the ever-present and invisible Sky Daddy of religion seems to be one of the hardest of all to give up. There are undoubtedly many reasons for humans to cling to religious belief. I, on the other hand, believe otherwise.  As the late Carl Sagan said, “…it is far better to grasp the universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring.”