He said it came to him as an epiphany. Like something that would happen to a saint, I thought, but that’s not how my father put it. He didn’t believe in saints. That was the epiphany he had, one day while sitting in church, that he didn’t believe any of it. Not the prayers or the rites or the big book or the tithing or the homilies or the Nicean Creed or the fellowship. He had been going to church for forty years, and it was just on that day it came to him. After that, he stayed in on Sundays while my mother and I went off to church. I wondered why mom hadn't stopped going, and why I still had to go. I definitely didn't believe any of. I knew a tall tale when I heard one. I wondered if it was like believing in Santa Claus. You just get to a certain age and you realize it’s not true anymore.