I was a weird kid. I know it's hard to imagine that, seeing as how I'm such a shining example of normality and good cheer. But it's true. I was also the son of a Minister, which meant I went to church pretty much every week for a long time. (It was a hell of a way to grow up, spending your Saturdays learning how to shoot pool in smoky bars and your Sundays in Church, but hell, that's what made me the man I am today, for better or worse and all that.)

Anyway, as often happens to children in Church (I was eight), I got bored and started thumbing through the Bible. I was a pretty advanced reader and was shocked to learn that I actually could understand some of the stuff in that huge and mysterious book. After a few minutes of reading, I found The Book of Revelations and became very interested. After the service ended, I decided I would take that book with me.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” asked my Dad.

Now, I was used to this question and always had the same answer ready for it.

“I'm not thinking.”

“You're damn right, you're not thinking. You can't take that book. It belongs to the church. Besides, we have damn near every type of Bible ever produced at home.”

“Dad,” I said. “You can't steal a Bible. They're free for everyone.”

“The Bible is the best selling book in America, Son. It costs people money. You can't just steal it from a church.”

And that's when it hit me like a ton of Lincoln Logs.

The Bible, I thought, is just a book. Hell, even Dr. Seuss wrote and sold books. What the hell is everyone getting so wrapped up in this crap for?

I replaced the book, apologized to my father, and began what would become a long exploration of the human psyche through written words.

It's weird, you know? The moments that define us are so hard to pinpoint until long after they happen. That little exchange started an operation on my eight year old brain that has still yet to complete itself.

Who knows where it will lead?