“So long as man remains free he strives for nothing so incessantly and painfully as to find someone to worship. But man seeks to worship what is established beyond dispute, so that all men would agree at once to worship it. For these pitiful creatures are concerned not only to find what one or the other can worship, but to find community of worship is the chief misery of every man individually and of all humanity from the beginning of time.” 
 
~ Fyodor Dostoyevsky "The Brothers Karamazov"
“All beliefs, habits, tastes, emotions, mental attitudes that characterize our time are really designed to sustain the mystique of the Party and prevent the true nature of present-day society from being perceived.”

~ George Orwell “1984”

“I don’t have children,” was the statement I had made that caused the sudden silence at our dinner table. For the first time that night, the eyes on me weren’t expecting me to back up their arguments or make some philosophical statement about society. For the first time, each gaze had hope within them for my true belief; for an explanation of my real thoughts.

The evening had begun very simple, with me introducing my girlfriend of three months to my family at our Thanksgiving gathering in my childhood home. There weren’t many of us in my family. Only my middle-aged parents, my sister, her husband, and their kid, Emily. Just a handful of people, and yet so many differing opinions. Things were fine when we were all busy preparing for dinner – my parents running back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room with hot pans straight from the oven, and my sister and I setting up the table like we were kids again while our partners mocked us for doing so. And Emily – Emily laughed so hard watching the chaos unfold when her racing grandparents clashed shoulders with her mother and uncle trying to set the table. It made us all laugh… this raw joy! They say life is full of fleeting moments and that the good ones don’t last. How we’re supposed to enjoy them while they’re here as if it’s not our job to make them linger. The true chaos started during dinner. 

“I just can’t see how hard it is to pick up your bible from time to time,” my mother told my sister before chugging a spoon full of rice. “I’ve been talking to Father Michael and -“

“I’d rather swallow a drumstick covered in nails whole than subject myself to that again,” my sister declared, cutting her vegan-whatever-meat with her knife and fork. Before my mother could groan, my sister said aloud. “Like, honestly mom. You can’t act like the church didn’t spend more time shoving scripture down our throats than doing what it actually says. They practically jumped at the chance to condemn me and Robbie every time we disobeyed God’s law. Right Robbie?”

I stuttered my uncertain reply. 

“Well, honey,” my dad began to speak, “you don’t have to have a religion to read your bible -”

“Charles,” my mother sang with her chin to her chest in offense. 

“You don’t have to have a holy book to have a religion either these days,” dad continued. “Everything’s a religion. Every political party, every community -”

“Right!” my sister yelled. 

“Robbie.” My dad’s call caught me off guard. “Do you remember last week when we went to the gas station and this group of Black Lives Matter kids circled us?”

I nodded and chuckled at the memory. “Yeah. It was hilarious! They were -”

“I get it,” my father cut me off. “We’re brown so you expect us to be your allies, but when some of you go around vandalizing property -”

“Oh, brother,” my girlfriend mumbled. I grabbed her arm beneath the table. 

“- how do you expect anyone to hear you out?”

“You’re brown,” my sister said. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re brown. We’re black… or Afro-Caribbean, as we’re now supposed to call ourselves. It’s all getting too complicated to keep up with.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” my girlfriend mumbled much louder than she had before. 

Everyone at the table turned to her.

“What do you mean by that?” my sister asked her.

I sighed softly. 

“I just…” Camella stuttered her reply. “I mean… It’s not hard to keep up with societal changes. All you have to do is acknowledge your biases and ignorance -”

My family shared glares. 

“- and work hard to correct it. Stand with the causes you support.”

“Okay, white girl,” my sister said with a tight smile. “What exactly do you consider ignorance? Because I posted the black square on my Instagram and nothing’s changed much. I’m still afraid for my brother and husband’s lives.”

“T-The black square was performative activism -”

“How about Haiti? Have you posted about Haiti on your social media? The wars in Africa? What happens after I post a little article about these things? Where’s our world peace?”

“I wish it were that simple.”

“Do you think that I think it is? Like a little girl who needs to be educated? Or am I just ignorant? As long as I don’t agree with you, I’m ignorant, right?” My sister lifted her fork to her lips. She put it down again. “Everyone is ignorant these days when they choose to believe something other than what the other person believes. I’m ignorant for not being your kind of Christian, ignorant for thinking meat is unhealthy, ignorant for not standing with all hashtags while respecting their cause. Ignorant for not shoving my beliefs down your throat, and most definitely ignorant for not knowing what to say publicly. Because silence is complicity… It’s so confusing. Just post the black square, Amber… If silence is a form of compliance with the other side’s beliefs, and our difference in opinion is an act of violence, then what are we supposed to say? Not what you want to hear? Are we meant to just pretend to side with ideas? Perform our activism until we blindly believe things? Because if that’s the case, I need to start believing in everything.”

The table grew quiet. 

My mother began to croak; “The bible says the children must respect their parents -”

“I’m not a child, am I? Your bible says faith in God saves you, not your works. But a lot of you forget that -”

“I don’t know what bible you’ve been reading, but -”

As my family began a new argument, I turned to little Emily sitting across from me. She had sunk into her chair the moment the yelling began. Picking at her peas, she eyed each person at the table with a pout. As her eyes stopped on me, I smiled at her and leaned my chest against the table. “What are you grateful for, Emily?” I asked her in a whisper. A bright smile missing its two front teeth spread on her face. She had been waiting for some attention. She sat upright in her chair. “For everything,” she announced, causing the rest of the small table to go quiet. 

It broke my heart – her thanks. She was grateful for a chaos she didn’t yet understand. In her little mind, her biggest fears were of the dark and the monsters under her bed. In mine was the fear of upsetting my family, my friends – my girlfriend – the world. I was afraid of being seen as wrong and hated for it. I was afraid of not being accepted or not being loved. All I hoped for was to be accepted and not excluded for my uncertainty and questions. The dreams I’d had as a child of what my adult years would be like had been snuffed out at seventeen by the reality that our world is not safe for self discovery. That we must pick a box to label ourselves with and find a community to validate our thoughts – many religions to preach the things we want to hear… Find safety in numbers and collective thought without question. We are the murderers of dreamers; of the hopeful people we could have been. 

And by choice, I would put the dagger in another’s hand. I, as someone’s father, would have to choose for my children what belief to align them with – what label to make them persecute others for not falling within and to be persecuted for choosing. I hope I will teach them not to harm others for the sake of a truth and to love others no matter what they thought of them. But like those who preach ideas in hopes that others might believe it, I would have to hope that my child would choose to listen to me.

“What are you thankful for, Uncle Robbie?” Emily asked me, grinning innocently. 

With the sting of many judging eyes on me and a twitching smile of shame, I said the only thing that came to mind; “That I don’t have children.”