Ugh! Long time ago now, but it was Saturday mornings. We had a 45-minute drive each way and typically included grocery shopping, so it consumed most of the day. Don't remember if it was two years or three- seemed like five.

What did we learn? We learned about church. We learned how to memorize stuff. We learned what the church would expect of us once we were confirmed, and not so much about what we could expect of the church. I have discovered throughout life that I believe in a created universe, but I don't believe in the Cosmic Big Guy invented so long ago by the church to scare people into attending (way too Santa Claus adjacent), and I certainly don't believe in church. The brazen hegemony of 'sending missionaries to teach the natives about Jesus' just about turns my stomach.

Church was about the only social life my father had. He was head elder and Mom was choir director, so it seemed like we were always there. If we grumbled about it, the folks had a ready answer: "If you don't want to go to our church, that's okay. We'll see that you get to whatever church you want, but you are NOT sitting home on Sunday morning and watching TV!" Well, of course that completely missed the point and would have been an even bigger pain in the backside, so no option but to stick it out until I left home.

My mother sneered at people who only came on Christmas and Easter or if someone wore casual clothes to service. When one boy's mom asked if it would be okay if he wore tennis shoes to the confirmation ceremony, my mom just about had a fit.

My brothers and sister stayed with church, so I guess that counts as a success, but the last time I set foot in one was my mother's funeral and the odd wedding. Too much is too much and that was too much for me.