Like Ray Donovan, we are all at times crippled by the sins of our past. Even me, as unsullied as I seem, am haunted by the sins– the one sin– of my youth.

As a child, dutifully pushing the cart for my mother in the Woodwards or the Safeway, I would often see grown-ups picking handfuls of grapes off the bunches and popping them unabashedly into their mouths. I would see them grinning unselfconsciously as they reached into the bulk bins of Bridge Mix and grabbed a small handful of chocolate covered jujubes.

And as a four-year old child, I knew that these grown-ups, these adults, these pillars of righteousness, were criminals. I was getting mixed signals. I knew it was wrong, this casual pilferage, but also, there was no hint of consequence.

I remember that one time, as I pushed the cart through the bulk section following my Mom to the bins of drink crystals, I subtly lay my hand on the gummy bear bin, hooking my finger over the edge, and caught a single sweet bear in the crook of a knuckle.

Nobody saw. I was swift and non-nonchalant and, yes, devious.

Later as we walked down the pasta aisle, I faked covering a yawn, and slipped the warm gummy into my mouth.

There were no cameras in the Safeway in those days, and my mother was busy looking through the spaghetti. No one would ever know that that day I stood on the precipice of a life of crime. Nobody but me. The guilt I felt was my salvation, leading me rather to a life of mathematics, but it has also been an eternal burden.

45 years later, I am walking past a church, and wonder if I cannot, like Ray Donovan has, sue for the absolution of my sin. I have no place in church, having no religion, but they do not have confessionals in the post office. They have booths, yes, but you need a booth with a obscuring screen that will cast patterned shadows across your face. They only have these in churches.

And not all churches. The United Church of Canada doesn't have them. I'm not sure what their policy on sin is, but they don't want anyone confessing it. It now seems likely to me that the grape thieves I saw in my youth were Protestant. The church I am walking past does not have a confessional. They swallow their sin, but I am resolved to do this no more. I go and find a Catholic Church.

"Excuse me Father, but I have sinned." I say, stepping into the confessional. I know how it starts. I've seen it on TV. I know I am suppose to say how long it has been since my last confession, but this is my first. "This is my first ever confession."

"It's 'Bless me Father...'." he corrects.

"Oh yeah." I say, I guess I don't know it as well as I thought I did.

"So. What do we do now?" I ask.

"How have you sinned?" he asks.

"Don't you want to call me, 'My son'?" I ask. "I did call you 'Father'."

"How have you sinned, my son?"

"I stole a gummy bear at the Safeway when I was four. Or maybe it was Woodwards."

"From the bulk bins?" he asks.

"Yeah." I say.

"Probably Safeway then. But that's okay." he says. "That's called a sample. You are supposed to do that."

"Oh." I say. "But I had no intention of buying any gummy bears. I didn't have any money. When you take a sample, you are committing to buy it if you like it."

"Nope." he says. "Go to Costco any weekend. People line up to get samples of things that they have no intention of buying."

"I know they do that," I say, "But they are sinning. They also park their cart in front of the sample table so that nobody can get by. Isn't that a sin?"

"God is okay with that."

"Wow! God must be very patient."

"He is eternally patient, my son, and has an infinite capacity for forgiveness."

"Hey, wait." I say, "Are absolution and forgiveness the same thing?"

"I can absolve you of your sins. Only God can forgive you."

"Or Safeway could forgive me, right?"

"That gummy bear wasn't a sin."

"So I am absolved, then?"

"Well." He says avoiding the question. "What are your other sins?"

"That was it. Just the gummy bear."

"You don't have pride?" he asks.

"That's not a sin." I say dismissively. "In fact, I am proud that I am now free of sin."

"Pride is the deadliest of sins." he replies.

"Surely murder is deadlier." I am new to the confession business, but I feel that I am on steady ground here.

"Pride leads to murder." he explains.

"That seems like empty rhetoric, Father." I accuse. "What if you are proud of never having murdered anyone. You continue to not murder, in no small part, because of that pride."

"It is by the grace of God that you have not murdered anyone." he says, "You should not be proud of it, you should thank God for it."

"What? So sin is on us, but righteousness is God's doing?" I ask.

"Exactly. This is why we must accept Jesus into our hearts." he says.

"That is a pretty convenient business model." I say.

"This isn't a business, my son, this is your salvation."

This irks me. He has an answer for everything. It feels like a fight with my wife. Why do I need salvation if I have been absolved of the gummy bear thing. I came in here with one sin, and by all accounts a pretty small one, and he is trying to send me off needing salvation.

"Okay. Thanks for the talk." I say, feeling I've been conned. "How much do I owe you?"

"Ten 'Hail Mary's and ten 'Our Fathers'."

"Here." I say, slipping a dollar under the screen. "Just see that Safeway gets this."