We grew up Southern Baptist, which is pretty much exactly what you’re picturing. Celebrating Halloween was celebrating the Devil’s birthday (we still did it, but we couldn’t have anyone over during October because they might see our decorations). Our mother was told to cut up her George Strait cassettes, because… actually, we’re not really sure why. She didn’t appreciate it, though.
Surprise, our fellow Southern Baptists were kind of assholes! Here’s a quick rundown of the nonsense we were forced to tolerate from behind the covers of our Nancy Drew mysteries…
1) Attending Vacation Bible School during summers, during which a boy our age took our hand and made us hit our own face with it, which slammed the back of our head into a brick wall.
2) Being told by one of the boys in our Sunday School class that the girls’ class was down the hall, and we were obviously mistaken about our gender.
3) Being told by our uncle during a Royal Ambassadors meeting (don’t ask) that there’s more to life than just reading. A deacon in the church, our uncle was at the time engaged in an affair with his wife’s best friend. We don’t think that’s what he meant, though.
4) Being called a pig during junior high school by a girl in a co-ed Sunday School class. We can no longer remember why.
5) Having to remind the co-ed Sunday School teacher (who didn’t know how to pronounce “waft”) who we were every week. At one point, we tried to ease what we assumed would be his obvious embarrassment by saying we tended to blend into the wallpaper. He assured us that wasn’t true. Which… awkward.
Anyway, Southern Baptist church! Super fun. We used to take naps under the pews during the sermon, but when we got too old to do that, we’d take a pen and color in all the vowels in our program or sneak a copy of the Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine to which we subscribed into church with us. As an attention-hungry child, however, it was a godsend. We welcomed God into our hearts multiple times before the age of 10, just so we could tell the preacher so people would be happy for us. By the third time of walking to a corner during a pot luck and closing our eyes and asking Jesus into our heart, then telling everyone, the novelty had worn off for all of us.