god.

I am a confident atheist, and have been sure in my faith - or lack of faith - for many years. However, I was raised Catholic and, though I have no doubts that religion was and is a mistake, I often find myself sentimental about my childhood image of god. I can only compare this feeling to the memory of Santa Claus, a belief that I was loathe to relinquish, as it was a comforting one, albeit not very plausible.

Still, my memory often touches upon how I once imagined god to be - a rather unorthodox view, I’m sure, and certainly not akin to the icons commonly seen. My god, the one created by my child-self, had skin as green as a bottle, a deep lustrous color that, paired with his hulking nose, only reminded me of a frog. His eyes were great and white, and he wore a midnight-blue top hat, and a matching suit of velvet. In some of my drawings, he had fiery orange hair flowing out from beneath this cap. He floated amongst clouds and was a large, encompassing father figure that was not present in churches but in trees and songs and bodies of water.

Needless to say, my kindergarten teachers were perturbed, but more so, puzzled. This image of my own god, his garish colors and lidless eyes, is one of my earliest memories, along with the troubled faces of adults around me. But he stays with me, though I have long since regarded him as a mere childhood dream.