My parents lied to me incessantly as a child: about the Easter bunny, Santa Claus, that they were happy in their marriage, that my mother got along with her mother and sisters, that I was an intended pregnancy. I learned that I would eventually discover or be told the truth about everything they told me. I learned the tooth fairy was a lie. I learned that cigarettes didn’t turn you into a psychopathic crackhead junkie murderer. I waited for someone to come clean to me about god. They never did. As a high school freshman, my twenty-something brother asked me why I hadn’t been confirmed. I told him I didn’t believe in god. (After reading the bible I was more sure than ever I didn’t want that.) He still tells people I’m devout.