When I was 8, one evening my mother failed to return home from work when she was expected, usually between 5:20 and 5:30, maybe 5:45 of traffic was particularly bad. As 7 o'clock rolled around, my father got nervous, placed a few calls and said he would be right back. He returned shortly, paced, talked furtively on the phone until the clock chimed 9 when he called the police. They sent over two cruisers; one for him and one for my elder brother, to go search. My brother strapped his hunting knife to his calf under his pants. On their way out the front door, which I was told to close and immediately lock, my father said to me "I hope you've been praying for your mother's safety!" and disappeared through the door.
As I had turned 8, the confirmation ritual required me to chat with the local cleric and get his approval that I sufficiently displayed devotion; he was the goofy neighbor from across the street and he happily stamped my card. I was dunked, and told I was a member of the tribe. I knew immediately it was all hoo-haw and a bunch of fairy tales told to appease the listener. Nevertheless, my father was a devout member and my mother a convert, so I obeyed,
Realizing I had not prayed even once for her safe return, I immediately ran to my room, dropped to my knees and p r a y e d as hard as I could. I was crying, imagining her lifeless body found under the 4th South viaduct, raped, beaten and left to die. I was in agony. I must have screamed my prayers so hard I became hoarse because — alas, the headlights flashed across my window and could it be — my mother had retuned home! Safely, I ran to check, bursting through the back door barely shouting," Mom! You're alive!" and wrapping my arms around her torso as she held up her burse and attaché.
"Why are you crying?" she asked.
"Daddy thought you'd been killed! He and brother are out now looking for you with the police!" I gasped between sons.
She grasped my hand and pulled me into the house, setting me down and drilling for details. When she realized I was being honest, Dad had called the police and they were out looking for her, she stood, walked to the phone and dialed the number for the police. I don't know how she knew it off the top of her head, but she asked for a sergeant by name and spoke briefly. My father and brother came home shortly, all very happy at her safe return. My mother asked my father if he'd somehow forgotten that she had a dinner event and he was supposed to get us some dinner? He gave me a side-eyed look and said he had forgotten, but all's well that ends well, right?
It was at that moment that I realized it was all a ruse for him to test if I was buying it all enough to pray, and I had fallen for it. I realized he had probably watched through the window at my anguished tearful prayers, and was satisfied with himself. And if I had to be tested on the life of my mother to see if I believed in god, I knew it was all a pack of lies.
