The Birth of Helena Kara Latiri: Gross and AWESOME (Part 2 of 2)

Continued from Part 1...

The Birth.

I was surprised. As Dr. VanMilder got dressed for the delivery and the nurse was preparing all of the tools and instruments and lighting necessary, I must confess that my mind was not on anything specific. I thought about how quiet the delivery ward was. I thought about the consequences of having a child's birthday on New Year's, and how it was less than two weeks before my wife's birthday and only one week after Christmas, less than a month after our wedding anniversary, and how much budgeting would have to go into gift-giving each winter. I thought it was awesome that Heather's contractions didn't lead her to scream obscenities (which I was preparing myself for), but instead, took place while she napped. I thought of the wonders of modern medicine, while at the same time appreciating that females of all species have been giving birth to offspring for eons.

The nurse disassembled the foot of the bed, which slid away to reveal stirrups on either side of the bed. The nurse quickly assembled them, and I thought it was like a giant Transformer toy. Then I noticed that the doctor was still getting dressed. By this point, the doctor had put on overgarments over her scrubs, at least two pairs of gloves, foot coverings up to her shins, and a face shield similar to the one I wore when I serviced liquid oxygen to the LOX converters on F-15s. The nurse herself had on a pair of latex gloves, and I felt extremely contagious, because I was only dressed in my street clothes. No mask, no gloves, just a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Meanwhile, the doctor looked as if she was prepared to shoot tear gas into a mob as she stood between my wife's spread legs.

Heather's feet were on the stirrups; the nurse was on Heather's left side, and I was on the right. I had a clear view of what can now only be described as "birth canal." It had grown in size since I'd last seen it, and of course, that made sense. But I was surprised, because it's not something that anyone had ever really taught, whether in sex ed or in birthing class. We learn all about the uterus and even the steps of labor, but being a guy, that information really went in one ear and out the other. Guys are usually just grateful that they don't have to ever experience that. They should be, too, because to be honest, it was a bloody mess. Fluids were oozing out, and there was a smell. Of course, I didn't really care, but these are observations that people are afraid of making.

The doctor then instructed Heather to start pushing during the next contraction, and Heather did just that as the nurse and I held on to each of Heather's legs. When the doctor yelled "Push!" and the nurse gave an authoritative count of "One...two...three..." all the way to ten, I realized that this was it. This was what we all see in the movies and television, and boy this wasn't anything like that. It was quiet, intimate, private, comfortable, and safe. For my part, there was no animosity, no stress, just this act of biology that I was witnessing live for the first time. I wasn't watching Lifetime; I was watching Animal Planet.

After the fourth set of three pushes, I saw the generous amount of hair that signified my daughter's head was approaching. I wasn't sure which part of her head I was looking at, so I thought that the baby's head was just the size of my fist. The doctor's fingers were kneading and spreading, as the hair kept creeping closer and closer to the exit. On the seventh set of pushes, the amount of hair grew and grew and grew! When her face slid out from underneath, my jaw hit the floor. I was looking at the most unnatural sight I'd ever seen in my life.

There she was, my daughter's face, sticking out between my wife's legs, and the only thing I could think of was Kuato saying "Quaid...start the reactor..."

With the ninth and final set of pushes, the doctor delivered Helena out from the womb. The first thing that I needed to see was that Helena was, indeed, a girl. You see, ever since her 20-week ultrasound, I'd been concerned that she might be a boy. Nothing wrong with that by itself, but all of the pink clothes and dresses and tights and "It's a Girl!" themed gifts would be wasted, not to mention my embarrassment at preparing the whole world for something different. So when Helena came out, all I could see was her back, which made the wait for gender verification even longer. Even when the doctor exclaimed, "Here she is!" I still wanted to see for myself. When the doctor handed Helena to Heather to hold, I sighed with relief.

Helena was huge. I was shocked. I didn't think a human being could hold a whole other human being inside herself. Also, Helena was a cuttlefish. She started out whitish-gray, then as she started crying, her body turned a deep shade of purple. The purple gradually gave way to red and then to pink, and when I could see her eyes, they were blue like the Fremen of Arrakis.

The doctor handed Helena to Heather, and the cord was still attached, but clamped. The doctor asked, "Daddy, would you like to cut the cord?" I said, "Of course!" but in a tone that reflected the mood I snapped into when she asked me that. I became an enlisted man ready to execute the orders of my superior, and cutting the cord was simply another order to carry out. It didn't mean anything to me other than a medical procedure that I happened to perform. I cut the cord, which looked like a slimy blue coiled rope that reminded me of very thick rotini.

Helena was crying strong, and Heather instantly snapped into a soothing mother. It was a side of her I'd actually never seen before, and I was so happy to see it. Any lingering doubts I had that Heather would be a good mother disappeared without a trace.

Helena weighed in at an impressive 8 lbs, 10 oz. Helena was cleaned and swaddled and I got to hold her for the first time, and I looked at the milia on her nose, her prominent upper lip, and her flat nose. I listened to her crying as I rocked her, letting her lungs work for the first time in her life. I wasn't thinking about how my life was going to change. I wasn't thinking about how much sleep I was going to miss. I wasn't thinking about how many diapers I would have to change or how I was going to get her to eventually stop crying. I just looked at her in amazement and thought, This is my daughter. I hope she doesn't hate me too much.

It's been two weeks, and everyone is doing great. Being a dad suits me, I think. I rush to her side whenever I hear her cry, and I'm happy to change her diaper. I'm glad she's a strong girl, and seeing her go through delivery reinforces my trust in her strength. Right now, there are two things that I'm waiting for: her smile and her laugh. When those things happen, I'm pretty sure my ability to say no to her will be hammered away.

I wonder if Helena will enjoy Total Recall...

The Birth of Helena Kara Latiri: Gross and AWESOME (Part 1 of 2)

What you are about to read is the uncensored, undiluted truth about a man's experience witnessing the birth of his first child. Since most of my friends are parents already, much of what I will write will not come as a shock to them. No, these next few entries are meant to strip away the unnecessary sentimentalizing experience that is childbirth. It's about the realities of the moments that I as an expectant father went through during the 50-plus hours around the birth of Helena. It's about how I felt not just as a father, but as a husband, a son, an in-law, a friend, and a man. Much of what I will write may sound crazy, but keep this in mind: my daughter, wife, and I are alive and well and happy to have each other.

New Year's Eve.

So the due date of the 27th of December had come and gone, with no sign of labor. My hopes at claiming a tax credit for 2007 were dwindling fast. My father-in-law Charlie and my sister-in-law Jenny had been staying with us since before Christmas, and they were set to head back home to Alabama within days. Both Charlie and Jenny were sick with colds, and cabin fever was starting to take hold. Being in a holding pattern during the holidays was not the most stress-relieving experience.

Then that nesting instinct kicked in. Heather had the four of us running around cleaning and straightening. I cleaned up the backyard (something that I'd been meaning to do), and I decided to get a haircut. I did this for 3 reasons: 1) there was a distinct possibility that I would have to report for Air Force Reserve duty that weekend, regardless of whether or not Helena was born by then; 2) I wanted to look good for the inevitable pictures that would come soon (hey, if Heather can get her nails done and her hair did, I deserve a $10 haircut!); and 3) I needed to get out of the house.

I got my hair cut at a stylist in Aspen Hill. There, the stylist told me stories of how her nesting instinct preceded the birth of her four children by about 24-48 hours. (She also charged me $25; I'm never going there again...) I became convinced that I was going to be a father that night.

At around 5:30 PM, Heather's contractions started. Because we had been waiting so long, we dismissed the contraction as just a strong Braxton-Hicks contraction. When another one came about a half-hour later, I knew it was for real. Heather lied down on the bed to see if the contractions went away; they didn't, and became regular at around 7:30. We timed the contractions for another hour or so, and got the go-ahead to go to Holy Cross Hospital.

The four of us left with virtually everything we needed. Our baby bag had already been packed, but I did end up forgetting the boombox and music that Heather wanted to listen to in the delivery room. It turned out we didn't need it.

Heather was admitted for observation, and Dr. VanMilder, the Kaiser Permanente doctor on-call, noted that Heather had only dilated 2 centimeters. Heather was told to walk for an hour to see if the dilation would increase. It was at that point that my mother came in to see how everyone was doing. She played her "I'm a doctor" card to get through the waiting area, and while I know she meant well, the added stress of having my mother there definitely didn't help!

After an hour of walking, the contractions didn't the dilation, and the doctor gave us two choices: 1)go home and wait a little longer, or 2) stay and receive pitocin to speed up the process. We both agreed that going home would be way more trouble than it was worth, so we were moved up to the delivery room.

The delivery room was very nice. It was like a hotel suite with hardwood floors and a delivery bed and monitors. Heather was hooked up to the monitors, and the baby's heart rate was racing at around 185, when it should have been around 150. Fluids and 100% oxygen weren't helping, so Heather received an amniotomy, breaking her water at 11:30 PM. Immediately, the baby's heart rate dropped to normal, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor whimsically remarked to herself, "Huh, who knew that's all it would take?" Taken out of context, the doctor might have sounded incompetent, but growing up with a physician for a mother, I knew that medicine is a lot of trial and error. Everyone also knew that the baby was big and strong and could take a lot.

Now that Heather's water had broken, the contractions became more intense. While previously they appeared to me a discomforting pain, they had increased to the point where Heather was vocalizing. I felt quite helpless, because there really wasn't anything I could do to soothe Heather through each contraction. In birthing class, we were instructed to soothe, help coach breathing, or rub/massage arms and legs. Jenny and I tried doing all that, but Heather wouldn't have any of it. So basically, I was forced to watch Heather moan in pain without touching or saying anything for two minutes at a time. Soon after we noticed that it was New Year's Day, Heather was asking for an epidural.

The anesthesiologist, Dr. Lee, administered the epidural at around 12:30 AM. (I challenge anyone to find me an anesthesiologist who is not an East Asian man.) Immediately, the contractions became observably less painful. It was at this point my father-in-law and sister-in-law decided to leave the hospital and wait at the house for the news. Charlie especially didn't feel well, and it was well worth it to rest comfortably at home than wait and feel miserable, quarantined alone in a hospital waiting room.

The epidural had a great effect. Soon after Charlie and Jenny left, Heather took a nap. I even managed to catch some shut-eye for a little bit. For the next three hours, Heather's uterus would contract and her cervix would dilate, all while Heather was asleep. At around 3:45, Heather woke up feeling like she needed to take a giant crap. I went to the nurses' station, and soon, Dr. VanMilder arrived. The doctor examined Heather, and while Heather was asleep, her cervix had dilated to 9 inches. "It looks like we're going to have this baby now!" the doctor happily told us.

Coming up on Part 2: 25 minutes of preparation + 20 minutes of pushing = the birth of Helena "OH WOW, SHE'S BIG!" Latiri.

Movie moments that make me cry

For those who know me, it will come as no surprise that I am very opinionated when it comes to things that I like or don't like. This is especially true when it comes to movies, television, or theatre. It basically stems from a weird cost-benefit scale: the amount of money that is spent on a production combined with the amount of money I have to spend to watch this production is proportional to how much I should expect to enjoy said production. I'll come up with the exact mathematical equation some time later, but the gist of it is this: if it's expensive, it better be good.

So if a movie or play has a high budget and sucks, it hurts me as an audience member, because I feel I've been cheated. Examples of this include: Pearl Harbor, Rush Hour 2, and Batman and Robin (and I saw that for free). Of course, a movie doesn't have to have a high budget and great effects to move me. It certainly helps, but it's not necessary.But when it comes to making me cry, it's got to be really powerful. Perhaps it's because I'm having my first child any day now, but I'm compelled to write this. The following is a list of movie moments where I always, always tear up. NOT on the list is anything from Beaches, The Notebook, or any Nora Ephron movie.

In no particular order:

E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. There are two moments in this movie that make me tear up. The first is the speech that Elliot gives over E.T.'s frozen body that culminates with, "E.T., I love you." The second is at the end of the movie, when E.T. and Elliot say good-bye to each other and E.T. points to his heart and says, "Ouch."

The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. Another movie with two moments. Both occur at the end of the movie, and they cannot be truly appreciated unless you have watched the previous nine-hour adventure. The first moment occurs after Aragorn receives his coronation and stops the four Hobbits from bowing with, "My friends! You bow to no one." And he and the entire population of Minas Tirith kneel before the Hobbits. The second occurs shortly thereafter, when Sam, with courage and confidence, leaves his friends at the drinking table to go talk to Rosie Cotton, cutting to their kiss at their wedding.

The Joy Luck Club. We've seen Ying-Ying's story, a sad one of how she had to drown her newborn son because it was the only way for her to escape a horribly abusive relationship. Flash-forward to years later, when her daughter, Lena, is in a safe yet passionless marriage in a "lopsided" house. After years of self-imposed emotional dormancy, Ying-Ying narrates how she will confront her daughter "like a tiger in the trees, now ready to leap out and cut her spirit loose." When she does confront Lena, Ying-Ying instructs her that if she wants "respect" and "tenderness" from her husband, then Lena should leave, and "not come back until he give you those things, with both hands open."

It's a Wonderful Life. Of course, it's when George receives donation after donation from all of the people he's touched and helped over the years, including his romantic rival Sam Wainwright who cabled money from England, and ending with the arrival of his younger brother in uniform, the war hero whom George saved when he was a little boy.

Rent. I don't particularly like the characters in Rent, but Jesse L. Martin's performance as Tom Collins at Angel's funeral singing the reprise of "I'll Cover You" (which, in my opinion, is one of the best love songs ever written) works every time.

Frequency. Frank Sullivan appears out of the shadows to kill his son John's would-be murderer, miraculously still alive thanks to John's warnings of death by fire and later by lung cancer. "I'm still here, Chief."

Field of Dreams. "Hey, Dad. You wanna have a catch?" And I hate baseball.

Schindler's List. Oskar Schindler is about to leave the Jewish workers he saved from extermination when he drops the ring they made for him. Schindler drops to his knees immediately to retrieve the only memento he could ever receive.

Finding Nemo. Marlin holds the unconcious body of his son and he briefly flashes to the memory of holding Nemo as his only survivng egg.

Saving Private Ryan. At the end, we see James Ryan at the Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial, now a grandfather, asking his wife, "Tell me I've led a good life...Tell me I'm a good man."

And last, but not least:

Predator. There are so many moments, from the time Dutch and Dillon arm wrestle to when Blain gets his chest blown away to the montage of Dutch getting ready for the final battle. OK, I'm kidding, but after getting emotional just writing this entry, I needed some levity!

Feel free to add your own moments, but try not to put "Bambi's mother getting shot," "Simba trying to wake Mufasa," "the destruction of Old Yeller," or anything involving pets, terminal illnesses, or pets with terminal illnesses. It's too easy.

The Difference Between Faith and Trust

It sounds awful to say, but I don't believe I have faith in anything or anyone. Before any of my family or friends react with outrage, please bear with me as I explain.

Every time I get into my car, I put on my seat belt. I do so even though I will probably not need it. In fact, if I were to drive a whole week without wearing my seat belt, it probably wouldn't matter. But I would never do that because of the statistics. These statistics are supported with evidence that I see on the road, hear on traffic reports, watch on the news, and hear about from other people.

So what does all that have to do with my faith (or lack thereof). One could say that I have faith in the traffic reports, the untested seat belt, or the veracity of other people's stories. I would disagree with that statement, because my attitude toward those things does not constitute faith, it constitutes trust.

Faith is the belief in something regardless of whatever evidence that may exist to disprove it. Trust is the reliance on something that is built upon experience. We are taught to have faith, but we learn on our own how to trust.

We learn to trust our family, because they provide and support us from a young age. We learn to trust our friends, because they support us when family cannot. We learn to trust authority, and authority figures gain trustworthiness based on performance or accuracy. We learn to trust ourselves, because we know our strengths and weaknesses. But when our family, friends, authority figures, and our own impulses betray us, our trust weakens. When we have no trust left, what can we rely on?

For many, people turn to religion. It provides hope and a stability that can be a powerful aid during times of crisis. It allows someone to turn off that part of their brain that calls for reason and just experience relief. It is the one place that can be counted on for acceptance, which is why when things are going so rough for people, their lives turn around for the better once they open a Bible or set foot in a church.

But what do I rely on? I rely on what I've experienced to be true. In my experience, when times get tough for a person, a family, a community, or even a nation, people chip in to help, regardless of whether or not the people know each other. Some do it for religious reasons, others do it for tax breaks, and others do it because it makes them feel good. But whatever the motives behind a person's desire to be help out, the result is the same: there will always be people who help people. This is not faith in humanity, but a trust in humanity. It is a trust that is fulfilled every time there is a natural disaster and help arrives, and a trust that is betrayed when help does not. But through it all, there will always be those who have a character to give it their all for the sake of their fellow man.

Which is why I don't have faith in my family and friends. I trust my family and friends. I trust them with my life.

Atheists: The New Evangelicals (Part 3: The Continuing Search)

Continued from Part 2...

And so there we have it. Older atheists such as those in WASH are bitter and curmudgeonly, and younger atheists such as those in the Beltway Atheists are arrogant and dismissive. Both groups seemed intolerant, and anyone who wants to be an atheist only has these choices to look forward to, right?

Of course not. The broad strokes that I've painted these two groups with go against the very creed implied in this blog. There are many different facets to everything, and in order to equivocate, one must look at all aspects. First of all, one common aspect was their atheism, which I share. Second, all seemed educated, well-read, and interested in a sense of community. Unfortunately for me, all these aspects alone were not enough to establish a relationship with either of these groups. The vibes of arrogance and intolerance were too much for me to deal with, because I came to realize that I was not simply searching for a group of atheists with whom to hang; I was looking for a community to where I would feel comfortable taking my future children.

Now, where could that community be? Where could one find tolerance of all, where the goodness of humanity was thought to be universal, where there was a unity of spirit focused on the improvement of life here on Earth? (You can tell where I'm going with this...)

The very first moment I set foot at the Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church, I felt comfortable. I'm not a fan of congregations, because there's a little too much groupthink for me, but after sitting through the service (which was about unity through humanity and not through worship) I got to know the members and the spiritual education that was offered. To say that they were ecumenical is an understatement. Acceptance was a way of life, as was fostering a spirit of improvement, not just of the self, but also of the community and the planet. Focus was not on any hypothetical afterlife, but on the here and now. Good deeds were performed not to score points for admission into heaven or good karma, but to benefit the one mortal life we lead.

So it seems like I found a place where my family and I could go once a week and have a good time. Hooray! Yet there is still this little voice inside telling me that I'm being a hypocrite for praising a church, when the whole idea of organized religion rubs me the wrong way! But then I realized that it's not about me anymore. I have a child on the way; this is about her. I've already discovered my own path to truth, and it took a long time. By teaching my child what everyone believes in, she'll better understand the world and its people. And I feel this is the best place for her to learn.

No belief can be forced upon another. Just as democracy cannot be spread at the point of a gun, religion or atheism cannot be spread by animosity. The message has to be relayed by example. If a person is good and reasonable, then conversations can be held. With conversation comes education, and with education, ignorance and irrationality will hopefully be purged. It's not that truth will set us free, but truth will allow us to leap further.

Atheists: The New Evangelicals (Part 2: My experience with the Beltway Atheists)

Continued from Part 1...

So my first experience with a congregation of atheists turned out to be a bust. After watching Christopher Hitchens and Ayan Hirsi Ali on television, I was starting to think that bitterness was just part and parcel of being an outspoken atheist. Since I associate bitterness with age, I felt that perhaps a younger group might be more to my liking.

I found a more youthful local group with the Beltway Atheists. They met every so often in different watering holes in the DC Metro area, and I decided to hook up with them at a nice place called Busboys and Poets. It's a nice little place that's bar/restaurant/liberal bookstore. Basically, it's a place where people snap their fingers instead of applauding. The group members trickled in, and some ordered dinner, while others ordered drinks. Conversation was much easier with this group than with the members of WASH, and I struck up one with someone who had just passed the bar that day. He seemed a less excited than I would have been if I had passed the bar, but if there's one thing I've learned about myself is that equivocation goes hand-in-hand with being non-judgmental. At least at first.

I moved my conversation to a group who were lounging in the couches near the window, and it was at that point that the atheist discussions started. I was basically interviewed about my history, and I gave my autobiography (which is another post for another blog) and experiences with religion, which basically boiled down to this: I don't believe in anything supernatural, but I have no real problem with religious people or communities, as long as they don't harm humanity.

Well, a religious community not harming humanity was an explicit contradiction as far as some of these members were concerned. A summary of the members' attitudes could be expressed as such: "How could you, a reasonable man with a science and history background, not be outraged that people believed in imaginary sky gods and worshipped them? People should know the truth about reality, and allowing to believe in God would lead to more of the chaos and violence that we are experiencing today! It should be your duty to explain to these poor, misguided fools that they are wrong. There is an excess of tolerance, and atheists shouldn't be shy about speaking out against the mass delusion of the world known as religion!"

Where did this animosity come from? Apparently, it came from a sense of persecution, something which I found ridiculous. Sure, atheists aren't exactly the most beloved members of American society, but in recent history, the pogroms against European Jews would better fit the label of persecution than the disdain that atheists might experience. But then I began to pity some of these young men and women. Some had grown up in religious households that really messed up their heads. One young woman grew up in a home that not only didn't allow belief in Santa, but as a young girl, this woman preached to her fellow students about the sin that was Kris Kringle. Remember that brand-new lawyer? He was taught about the sin of sex and the purity of abstinence, and these teachings led him to have absolutely no clue as to how to talk to women. That night, the poor guy got sloshed on beer after beer, and it was embarrassing.

Religion messed up these people's lives so much so that it evoked a resentful emotion that I can only describe as an underlying sense of vengeance. Their Halloween party had the theme of dressing up as your favorite Bible character (since the Bible was a scaaary book), which I found to be mean-spirited. There was no room for live and let live. Someone saying "God Bless You" or "Merry Christmas" to them was tantamount to a racial slur. They considered themselves better than others, and there was a look in their eyes of righteous anger that I'd seen somewhere before.

I left the place (after expressing my well-wishes) with another sense of disappointment. Was there no place that I could just go and have fun? I don't need to talk about atheism with other atheists; I already am one, and I don't need my atheism to be validated by others.

And that look of righteous anger? Similar to the looks from members of the Westboro Baptist Church.

Stay tuned for the conclusion of Atheists: The New Evangelicals...

Atheists: The New Evangelicals (Part 1: My experience with WASH)

As you may or may not know (or care), I'm an atheist. It's not something that I advertise or wear on my sleeve or even disclose without asking. It's just the way I see the universe; my moral compass is derived from many sources, mostly from personal experience, but I also include religious texts as sources of guidance. I mean, hey, if it works for so many, there must be something to them, right?

For the past couple of years, I'd been looking for a group of people to socialize with apart from my theatre friends and/or drinking buddies. I figured that getting to know other local atheists would be right up my alley. Boy, was I wrong.

The first experience I had was with the Washington Area Secular Humanists. I suspect that they labeled themselves as such because Washington Area Atheists has a worse acronym. The chapter closest to me meets the first Saturday of every month for discussions and refreshment at the Montgomery County Public Library in Chevy Chase, Maryland. When I arrived, I was instantly apprehensive about fitting in: everyone in the group was old, unkempt, and had no sense of style. I was also the youngest one in there by about 10 years. Looking at these folks, I couldn't see anyone there who I could strike up a fun conversation about the latest episode of Heroes or the travesty that was Spider-Man 3 or even marriage and babies. As the afternoon progressed, I discovered my apprehension was apt.

The meeting started with summary and reflections on the latest Atheist Alliance International Convention, where noted atheists such as Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, and Ayan Hirsi Ali told their stories and publicized their books. (These are the world's leading voices in atheism today, and I know that at least 3 out of these 4 have appeared on The Daily Show or The Colbert Report at one time or another.) The WASH representatives who attended the convention gave the speakers almost unanimous raves and praise. Then something interesting happened and it gave me an unfortunate sense of disappointment.

One WASH representative reported on his experience listening to Sam Harris. Harris' philosophy on discussing atheism with religious people boils down to this: remain calm and don't get frustrated, no matter how frustrating or unreasonable a person may seem. The message seems simple enough, except that it assumes that all religious people are unreasonable. Worse yet, the representative giving the report explained this philosophy as if having calm and reasonable discussions was a novel idea! It was at this point that I came to the clear yet unfortunate realization that no group is immune to ignorance.

Refreshment soon followed, and I trolled around and eavesdropped on conversations, seeing if there were any that I found interesting. None were. All were basically the same thing: religious people are fanatics, look at 9/11, Republicans suck, Hitchens and Dawkins are fantastic. This was Bible study, but without the Bible or even the happiness and joy that can be found in Bible studies.

The discussion period then began, and the question posed for the day was "Is having moderate or light religious faith as bad as being an extremist?" For the most part, people said that not all religious people are extremists, but they are still suffering from a delusion. I found that the tone of the answers smacked of an overwhelming sense of derisiveness, as if these people didn't truly understand how non-atheists led their lives. I said as much when I went up to speak.

The meeting broke up shortly after, and there were continuing conversations in the parking lot. Using my history background, I explained to one gentleman that Abraham Lincoln, while not a member of any specific church, was a deeply religious man, and not (as the gentleman I was chatting with believed) a man who used the word "God" as just that -- a word. Great men and women in our history and today believe in a higher power, and I didn't think it was wise for atheists to consign those men and women to the category of deluded individuals.

The WASH meeting was a bust for me. The members carried with them a sense of superiority that I found disturbing. I realized then that I had just gone to a place that I was hoping to avoid: I had just been to a church.

Next, Part 2: The Beltway Atheists.