I made a mental note of my first “sin” and my age at the time: eight. I’d looked across the street at the house of a troublesome girl my age and spontaneously whispered, “Bitch.” (Had I only thought the word -- thoughts were so hard to rein in, they couldn’t possibly count -- I might have given myself a pass.)
I considered myself blameless for anything that might have occurred previously. With that forbidden word, I’d turned a corner, my path was chosen. I would go forth and live my life an acknowledged sinner.
What I was really acknowledging was the futility of trying to remain pure in this lifetime, the expanse of time ahead being just too great, too uncertain. Who’d know some moment wouldn’t simply require a sin? There had to be some leeway, some room for discussion.
I’d just have to take my chances.
It would be a lifetime before I’d realize I never really freed myself, never abandoned my quest for personal innocence. Consciously or subconsciously, I’ve always wanted to leave this weird world either slightly better than I found it or at least unharmed, nothing broken, no mess that could be traced back to me. I just hid from that self-expectation, regardless of any evidence before me.
Of course, I didn’t hide it that well from anybody else.
When Billy Matthews sat next to me on the low wall that bordered my front yard and asked if he could kiss me, while the other kids hid and peeped, giggling, I wondered too. Can he kiss me? Am I old enough -- at ten -- for such things?
Our audience -- and Billy -- seemed to expect an instant answer. How would I know? It was certainly a good question, something I’d want clarified for future reference.
“Let me go ask my mother,” I said. “Be right back.”
I left Billy gaping and ran to the house. By the time I got to my front door, the yard was a roar of jeering little onlookers, Billy shrugging at them in disbelief.
“Can you what?!” my mother said. “No you cannot! Where is he?”
You had to give the guy credit for still being out there. The other kids, of course, weren’t going to miss it for anything.
Billy hung in sheepishly for his scolding, as the other kids mocked me openly. He, understandably, never asked again.
It didn’t really bother me. I had my answer, and it was good to know.
I considered myself blameless for anything that might have occurred previously. With that forbidden word, I’d turned a corner, my path was chosen. I would go forth and live my life an acknowledged sinner.
What I was really acknowledging was the futility of trying to remain pure in this lifetime, the expanse of time ahead being just too great, too uncertain. Who’d know some moment wouldn’t simply require a sin? There had to be some leeway, some room for discussion.
I’d just have to take my chances.
It would be a lifetime before I’d realize I never really freed myself, never abandoned my quest for personal innocence. Consciously or subconsciously, I’ve always wanted to leave this weird world either slightly better than I found it or at least unharmed, nothing broken, no mess that could be traced back to me. I just hid from that self-expectation, regardless of any evidence before me.
Of course, I didn’t hide it that well from anybody else.
When Billy Matthews sat next to me on the low wall that bordered my front yard and asked if he could kiss me, while the other kids hid and peeped, giggling, I wondered too. Can he kiss me? Am I old enough -- at ten -- for such things?
Our audience -- and Billy -- seemed to expect an instant answer. How would I know? It was certainly a good question, something I’d want clarified for future reference.
“Let me go ask my mother,” I said. “Be right back.”
I left Billy gaping and ran to the house. By the time I got to my front door, the yard was a roar of jeering little onlookers, Billy shrugging at them in disbelief.
“Can you what?!” my mother said. “No you cannot! Where is he?”
You had to give the guy credit for still being out there. The other kids, of course, weren’t going to miss it for anything.
Billy hung in sheepishly for his scolding, as the other kids mocked me openly. He, understandably, never asked again.
It didn’t really bother me. I had my answer, and it was good to know.
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