I remember the day I was born, screaming and crying all dirty and that as I was pulled, or should I say wrenched, from my mothers womb.

Only I don’t remember it of course, all I know about my earliest days is what I’ve heard.

“Clemence, your first word was apples”, my father would tell me while my mother would interrupt and say it was something else.

Time is a funny thing, how it plays upon our memory…

I wish my first word was atheist, so I just tell everyone it was. Who is going to be able to prove me wrong? My mother and my father “their facts” never add up.

I remember my first day at school, all dressed up in my ugly school uniform that was at least two sizes too big for me.

I remember my first years at school where everyone had phases of believing in the weird and wonderful and what is perceived as normal.¬†Father Christmas and aliens and la la la…

Father Christmas he never came, why should I have believed he existed?

The others had this thing called Christmas every year and I couldn’t identify as I never knew what this God was or believed he existed. My family is also non religious you see and we have no reason to celebrate Christmas.

In year 2 Miss Sansberry singled me out in front of the class like an outsider – he’s an “atheist”, he does not believe in God – do you have any questions to ask him?

As if having no Christmas and no reason to celebrate wasn’t bad enough.

It was then I turned to the world and realised it wasn’t so bad after all, even if I didn’t believe in God.

So I became a peaceful atheist, loving of the very beautiful and complex world around me that only science, with it’s experiments yet to be completed, could justify.

I am an atheist but a peaceful one.

I eat chocolate, lots of it, I love the way it melts in the mouth.

But sometimes even as a peaceful atheist I struggle to identify with others because we are all different. And sometimes it’s hard to make your voice heard.

 

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