I was 16 or 17. My parents are not religious people, but believers. And then they decided that I had enough shit to create, and it would be time for me to go to church for confession. I had a negative attitude to this idea, for I had already doubted the existence of any divine entities at that moment (I had actually doubted, not started to deny it), and the mechanics itself, when you first do nonsense, and then, in fact, just apologize and automatically consider yourself forgiven, raised certain questions in me. For some time I managed to avoid this procedure, but at some point one of the religious holidays came, and I was forced to go to the temple with the rest of the family. And now my confession begins. I expect, without any particular enthusiasm, to start listing where I’ve crushed. Father, when he noticed this, asked me what was wrong. And I’ve always been a man, or a little more stupid than I should, or a little more stupid. Well, because of these qualities I replied, that said, I am not sure that this whole cult makes sense, and in general, uncle, what are you doing here. I was a little overwhelmed at that moment. The reaction of the priest surprised me. He, after thinking for a while, replied that I was probably right, because he himself cannot assert with absolute certainty that God exists, because he personally did not observe any evidence. Nevertheless, according to him, religion still brings practical benefits, being a kind of psychological help in certain situations. As a result, after a short conversation, we agreed that since I feel well without faith, I do not need a confession, but when it comes to the feasibility - the hell knows him, who needs to be worshipped, and who does not need - not. Such a breakdown of the pattern has not happened to me before. A great man.