SISTER CATHERINE AGNES

At six I was already cursing God. He had sentenced me to a life of fear. Why hadn't he taken my life after baptism?

"A baptized baby who dies goes straight to limbo," Sister Catherine Agnes informed my first-grade class at Sacred Heart Catholic School.

"And what is the difference between heaven and limbo?" ventured Peter Phillips, the only red-head among the 30 pupils.

"In limbo you will never see the face of God," answered Sister Catherine Agnes with the infallibility of the Pope.

But I could have lived without seeing the face of God if there weren't any other significant differences between the two celestial paradises, I told myself. Particularly when compared to hell and purgatory.

"Everybody has to go to purgatory," continued Sister Catherine Agnes with the sweet smile of a martyr. "Nobody departs earth free of sin since we are all imperfect and nobody enters heaven unless he or she is free of sin.

"The only difference between hell and purgatory is that you are condemned to hell forever while one day you will leave purgatory. Otherwise, they are the same. They are filled with fire and suffering."

There was hardly a night when I was saying my prayers that I wasn't also cursing God. He could have made my existence easy by taking my life as a baby, but he chose not to. And now, at best, I was going to purgatory where I was going to burn, burn, burn.

How long would I remain there? Sister Catherine Agnes never quit reminding us that we committed venial sins every day from cheating on a test to disobeying our parents. How many of these would one accumulate in a lifetime? Would I find myself serving a sentence just short of an eternity in hell?

Six years old and I was facing the reality that I was destined for hell or purgatory. Sister Catherine Agnes never stopped telling us to request dimes from our parents so we could light candles in church for those loved one who were burning at this very moment and would continue to burn for years and years to come.

Mimi, my grandmother who had been hit and killed by a car, was screaming in pain from the flames that were engulfing her. I couldn't comprehend my parents' indifference when they wouldn't give me the money to help Mimi escape that inferno.

But all these scenarios in purgatory paled when compared to hell. God forbid we die with a mortal sin on our souls. For one sin I could be lost forever. I understood that I shouldn't kill or miss mass on Sunday, but I had no idea from memorizing the Ten Commandments the meaning of adultery, bearing false witness, worshiping graven images and coveting. And Sister Catherine Agnes was less than forthcoming on these words when Peter would pester her with more questions.

My soul might be darker than the black widows that haunted the corners of our garage.

I didn't fully understand the finality of death, but I understood the finality of burning forever. Given a choice, I didn't want to die. But it was already too late. Now that I didn't have the luxury of dying after baptism, the next best solution to my plight was dying after confession on Saturday or communion on Sunday.

I was this innocent little boy lying in bed at night shivering from the fear of eternal damnation.

My fears increased exponentially several years later when I discovered the irresistible temptation of masturbation. I was surely committing a mortal sin, but how could I tell the priest I was playing with my penis every night and thinking about naked girls!?! There was no hope. My soul (Was it in my brain? Was it in my heart?) was rotten.

I only found salvation years later when I discovered the true meaning of death and the peace of nothingness.