According to the definition, I am.
But maybe I'm a bit more than that? Maybe I am a theophobic? But that can't be right, a phobia is irrational and I have a very real, rational reason for fearing theists. I see them as a very real threat; not just to myself, but to all of mankind. Read on for the story of how I reached my conclusions.
My path began right at birth when I lived against the odds at a catholic hospital. Beating the odds and surviving, I became the "miracle child." Apparantly, way back then (mid 1950's), it was very rare for a baby to survive when the mother was sick with hepatitus. It's not uncommon these days.
My father was a catholic but my mother was not. I was baptized a catholic. My parents were later divorced and I lived with my abusive mother. I wondered why my mother made me go to catechism every Saturday morning and to church every Sunday morning. She didn't go, so why did I have to?
Although I wondered why I had to go as far back as I remember, I dutifully went every Saturday to be brainwashed and struck on the knuckles with the edge of a rule by the sadistic nuns. And went to church every Sunday to be bored to death by the Latin service that I could not understand.
As I grew older, I began to skip classes and church. I knew that I'd go to hell for skipping but figured I could get out of it by confessing and repeating a few hail marys and our fathers.
I was an avid reader and a good student in school. As I learned, I began to question what the nuns were teaching which got me more smacks on the knuckles with that ever present rule. I must have been 11 or so when I came across a bible quote where jesus says to call no man father. The nun got extremely angry when I asked why we called the priests father when the bible says to call no man father. After a couple more smacks with that damn rule, I walked out of class and never went back.
Even though I no longer went to those catechism classes or to church, I still had not thrown off my brainwashing completely and was still a catholic. I still knew I could do all sorts of sinful things, confess, and say a few hail marys and our fathers. All would be forgiven. That seemed to be what everyone else was doing.
Living in a poor area of a large city, I was soon getting into fights quite frequently and after getting beaten by a gang, I soon joined a gang for protection. At that time and place, we were not as gangs of today; we were most interested in watching each others backs and didn't have the deadly arsenals like gangs now. Not that we were good kids, we weren't; just not as violent as today. I understand why kids initially join gangs.
By the time I started high school, I already had a police record but had not been in jail yet. Some of the people attending a huge party where we were all huffing spray paint talked too freely so a bunch of us got talked to by the police at school Monday. That same day, the school got the proofs for our class picture. Several of us had flashed peace signs and one guy was throwing a bird. That got us all kicked out of school for a week.
Upon getting home, mom was waiting having been called from the school. She had a rope in her hand which she used to tie my hands behind my back, then tied me to an external conduit running down the wall. Next came a terrible beating with a folded electric cord. When she released me, I told her that she would never touch me again and I never let her. That was the last beating. I went back to school a week later wearing long sleeve shirts to hide the loop shaped welts that still were all over my arms, chest, and back.
Due to where I lived, I wound up starting high school at the largest school in the city; over 1,000 freshmen starting that year. All of my buds went to a different school which left me in a minority of whites at a nearly all black school in 1968.
I started ditching class before lunch so I could avoid the group of blacks that kept robbing me. Then I took a knife to defend myself with; one of the same robbers saw the knife and turned me in. I got kicked out of school for a week for that. When going back to school, I just went back to ditching class again. A couple of weeks later while ditching class, I got busted for stealing cigarrettes and wound up in juvenile hall. More violence in my life during my stay there.
I assure you that I eventually grew up. I certainly wasn't one of the good kids but I was surviving using what I had learned. That is not an excuse, just the way it was. Unfortunatly, I got worse before I got better.
© 2011 Stan McCann