Everyone is in the “giving thanks” mode, but broadcasting gratefulness over a table of food is like going to confession on Christmas Eve so Santa doesn’t lose your address.
Yes, I have gone to confession before. I was raised Catholic so my participation was quite mandatory. Every so often, always on a Saturday, my mother would decide it was a good idea that we head over to St. Anthony’s to attend evening mass instead of going Sunday morning. The catch was, confession was offered prior to mass, so usually we had to do that too. We’d stand in line at the back of the church, which always smelled like mildew, next to the ancient pews, and wait our turn. Then, it was a one-on-one in a tiny divided room. I’d rack my brain for non-terrible offenses which could be considered sins, confessed, and then the priest said a few words and sentenced me to recite certain prayers certain numbers of times. It was strange.
I’d always end up day dreaming afterwards, while kneeling in front of all the candles. Then I’d snap out of it and realize I hadn’t said any of the prayers yet. Hail Mary, ful of grace….Wait…How many am I supposed to say? I’d forget, then forget some of the verses, and eventually give up and create my own custom prayer to give God, followed by chit chat.
That’s all I’ve got for you.