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To: epicure who wrote (696)	8/25/2001 4:06:19 PM
From: E	Respond to of 51717

I was getting some work done for a change, and thinking about my reaction to that clip, which was supreme annoyance that the stunning photographs, which I could have looked at all day (I wish there were a screen saver with, like, a hundred such photographs; i'll bet there is someplace), and had this thought. That had I been brought up by atheists in the south not the victim of persecution on an almost daily basis by nasty Christian children (and how nice was it of their mothers to ask with smirks every single Sunday when my sister and I went out to play, "Did you go to Sunday School today, girls?", sharing looks with the other smirking mothers. Insensitive monsters. If they had a problem, they should have taken it up with my parents, my sister and I were children, we didn't even know what f-ing Sunday School was), but as a member of a loving Christian Community (loving at least of each other, even if not of the atheists' children or Joey the Jew), I wouldn't see those sweet sweet words float across the screen and get a surge of primal anger and think, "Yeah. Right. Well, I know what that sanctimonious claptrap means where ethics are concerned, and it doesn't mean shit, and I'm not a helpless child any more, so get it out of my face." I'd think, "How lovely." They changed me and my sister forever, I know that.

To: epicure who wrote (696)	8/25/2001 4:14:26 PM
From: E	Respond to of 51717

I should mention that then there was school prayer, so atheist children got, every single morning, the choice of being 1) a hypocrite or 2) a persecuted outcast. I had enough of being knocked around and insulted and having wads of my hair pulled out after school. In school, I said the prayers. Probably also colors my reaction to "Humbly, I asked God..." (who then, Omnipotent Creator though he is, manifests complete mind-bogglement over the state of things. People are so strange!, He thinks.) Boy, am I on a different page here, emotionally, than everybody else. But we are SO the products of our childhoods. In a lot of ways. Duh.