When I went to Confession for the first time I apparently took a lot longer than the other kids. Presumably I was tallying up all the stuff I did wrong, leaving things out felt like a sin in and of itself. I came out of the little annex and the priest gave my mom a big smile and said “Now I know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried.”

In retrospect this should have been my first indication that maybe Catholicism didn't need to be taken all that seriously.