My father, during the time that I lived with him, was a devout Catholic. When I was younger, I had, for part of my first and second grade, been enrolled in a local Catholic school. I had been baptized shortly after my parents' wedding and had gone through First Communion when I was around 6 years old. But the older I got, the less I believed.
   Part of this doubt may have come from my mother. She switched religions regularly, mostly depending on who she was married to at the time, giving me a broad, if unintentional, exposure to multiple faiths. She had been raised a Methodist, switched to Catholic with my father, and Evangelical with her third husband. And with each switch, I had been taken along for the ride. Each of these faiths claimed to be the "one true path" to...

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