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Stories From The Road

DavidHenson
Posts: 446
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9/5/2015 10:11:46 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
Some of these stories are from the super highway of misinformation on the world wide wasteland, others are from the alleged real world but all of them are true and they all happened to me. I'll keep it as brief as possible.

If there is a theme here it may seem religious in nature, but actually its more a sort of observation in human nature. At it's worst.

The Kid Goes To Hell

My folks were atheists. Dad come from a family of non-church goers and mom had been raised going from one church to another, and seeing the hypocrisy in it had dismissed it. We were poor and they both worked, so my maternal grandmother took care of us kids.

Grandma was a church goer, though she didn't seem to be what you would say a Christian was. Of course, at 4 or 5 years old I had no real idea of what a Christian was, except for when I asked my parents, to which they would answer something to the effect of "Stupid nosy people who believe in fairy tales." But, grandma would go to church on Sunday morning and she always seemed to me to be lonely. Going off in the cold or the rain early on Sunday mornings by herself. So one Sunday I decided to go with her.

It was a cold rainy fall day, so even though the church was only a few blocks away the church bus come and got us.

Before I go on I should say, that even at a very young age, as I was 4 or 5 years old at the time, my parents believed, and taught me, that there were no obscene words. Words were words and if my parents used the words, then I was allowed to use the words . . . and they used all of the words.

Anyway . . . my grandmother leads me into the church and up to the head guru, whatever he was called. It was a protestant sort of church, though I don't remember which one. And this tall, snotty self righteous looking man bent down to look at me like he was looking at a bug and he said something like this:

"You've never been to church? Do you know what happens to little boys who don't go to church? They go to hell."

Now. Words. Being unfamiliar as I was with the phenomenon of Christendom, to me, hell was a place you told someone to go when you were so mad at them you didn't care if they lived or died, so I said to him: "Oh, yeah, well you can go to hell, mister!"

The back of my grandmother's hand came down hard across the side of my face and the man stood there looking quite pleased. I ran out of the church and home in the rain by myself. Never stepped foot in a church again.

A Beautiful Easter Morning

As I mentioned, my parents were unbelieving folk, and we never did the Easter thing much. I had gotten a chocolate rabbit a couple times when we happened to be in the grocery store during that time, but never the whole Easter celebration crap. Except for one year when I was about 6 years old and my sister was about 8.

There was no excitement on my part. I just remember thinking, I don't want to do this. Truthfully I had no idea what it was all about, but, looking back it seemed to be mostly about my dad's strong devotion to conformism. Kids go on Easter Egg hunts, you are kids, you're going on an Easter Egg hunt."

Well, I thought, that makes sense. We kids love boiled eggs, why not paint them all up and scatter them all over the park and we'll go dig them out of the dirt.

I remember standing there, with this pained look on my face while all of these screaming little brats around me tore up the beautiful green grass of a perfect Sunday morning. Maniacally excited about finding candy in the plastic eggs, or the big winner for Jesus' alleged birthday, a twenty dollar bill.

My dad was adamant that I find it! I just stood there looking at the candy wrappers and beautiful grass, now mud with little pieces of brightly colored eggs, scrambled, in effect, by greedy little sugar junkies.

My dad grabbed my arm roughly and shook me and said: "Why aren't you going out there with the rest of them and finding eggs?!" I looked at him like he was nuts and said, quite simply: "Why?!"

That was the one and only Easter Egg Hunt the Henson family would engage in.

To Be Continued

I'll add some more stories to this thread later, including my stint with Steve Wells and The Skeptic's Annotated Bible and Sam Harris and the so called Reason Project, and, even a trip to the local jail.
"Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty." - Frank Herbert, Chapterhouse: Dune
DavidHenson
Posts: 446
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9/5/2015 11:34:24 AM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 9/5/2015 10:32:09 AM, JJ50 wrote:
I wouldn't bother, if I were you!

Well, you're not, so. . .
"Seek freedom and become captive of your desires. Seek discipline and find your liberty." - Frank Herbert, Chapterhouse: Dune
b_sorelson
Posts: 78
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9/5/2015 2:12:52 PM
Posted: 1 year ago
At 9/5/2015 10:11:46 AM, DavidHenson wrote:
Some of these stories are from the super highway of misinformation on the world wide wasteland, others are from the alleged real world but all of them are true and they all happened to me. I'll keep it as brief as possible.

If there is a theme here it may seem religious in nature, but actually its more a sort of observation in human nature. At it's worst.

The Kid Goes To Hell

My folks were atheists. Dad come from a family of non-church goers and mom had been raised going from one church to another, and seeing the hypocrisy in it had dismissed it. We were poor and they both worked, so my maternal grandmother took care of us kids.

Grandma was a church goer, though she didn't seem to be what you would say a Christian was. Of course, at 4 or 5 years old I had no real idea of what a Christian was, except for when I asked my parents, to which they would answer something to the effect of "Stupid nosy people who believe in fairy tales." But, grandma would go to church on Sunday morning and she always seemed to me to be lonely. Going off in the cold or the rain early on Sunday mornings by herself. So one Sunday I decided to go with her.

It was a cold rainy fall day, so even though the church was only a few blocks away the church bus come and got us.

Before I go on I should say, that even at a very young age, as I was 4 or 5 years old at the time, my parents believed, and taught me, that there were no obscene words. Words were words and if my parents used the words, then I was allowed to use the words . . . and they used all of the words.

Anyway . . . my grandmother leads me into the church and up to the head guru, whatever he was called. It was a protestant sort of church, though I don't remember which one. And this tall, snotty self righteous looking man bent down to look at me like he was looking at a bug and he said something like this:

"You've never been to church? Do you know what happens to little boys who don't go to church? They go to hell."

Now. Words. Being unfamiliar as I was with the phenomenon of Christendom, to me, hell was a place you told someone to go when you were so mad at them you didn't care if they lived or died, so I said to him: "Oh, yeah, well you can go to hell, mister!"

The back of my grandmother's hand came down hard across the side of my face and the man stood there looking quite pleased. I ran out of the church and home in the rain by myself. Never stepped foot in a church again.

A Beautiful Easter Morning

As I mentioned, my parents were unbelieving folk, and we never did the Easter thing much. I had gotten a chocolate rabbit a couple times when we happened to be in the grocery store during that time, but never the whole Easter celebration crap. Except for one year when I was about 6 years old and my sister was about 8.

There was no excitement on my part. I just remember thinking, I don't want to do this. Truthfully I had no idea what it was all about, but, looking back it seemed to be mostly about my dad's strong devotion to conformism. Kids go on Easter Egg hunts, you are kids, you're going on an Easter Egg hunt."

Well, I thought, that makes sense. We kids love boiled eggs, why not paint them all up and scatter them all over the park and we'll go dig them out of the dirt.

I remember standing there, with this pained look on my face while all of these screaming little brats around me tore up the beautiful green grass of a perfect Sunday morning. Maniacally excited about finding candy in the plastic eggs, or the big winner for Jesus' alleged birthday, a twenty dollar bill.

My dad was adamant that I find it! I just stood there looking at the candy wrappers and beautiful grass, now mud with little pieces of brightly colored eggs, scrambled, in effect, by greedy little sugar junkies.

My dad grabbed my arm roughly and shook me and said: "Why aren't you going out there with the rest of them and finding eggs?!" I looked at him like he was nuts and said, quite simply: "Why?!"

That was the one and only Easter Egg Hunt the Henson family would engage in.

To Be Continued

I'll add some more stories to this thread later, including my stint with Steve Wells and The Skeptic's Annotated Bible and Sam Harris and the so called Reason Project, and, even a trip to the local jail. : :

I would rather listen to wisdom than stories about the heathens of this world.