When I was born, I was a famous baby—loved by all in the church. I grew up with a lot of good people surrounding me. There were many who helped my parents raise me. When I was four, my parents split up, taking me to my grandparent’s house three hours away. For the rest of my childhood, I was in the permanent custody of my mother and saw my father every other weekend. My dad was still preaching but to a smaller crowd. Every time I saw him, I asked so many questions about the Bible and the stories he told. I constantly questioned my beliefs and why I was following this religion that didn’t make me feel anything. I learned from watching and listening to my dad that when you truly have faith in something, it gives you a cushion, something to go to when you are lost and can’t comprehend your feelings. Something that is there when you need it with answers, comfort and forgiveness.
I wasn’t raised with a choice, and no one ever asked me what I thought about my father’s messages. Good thing they didn’t, because little me would have said “bullsh*t.” A lot of my friends in middle school were Christian and went to church with their parents. Sometimes I would tag along because the church made me think of my dad. After my parents split, my mom refused to go to church. This made no sense to a four-year-old, and I started to miss the Sunday tradition. Being able to experience it again as a teenager made me love being part of the crowd again. The community was the best part. I was baptized again during my freshman year of high school and continually made my father happy. We discussed many things, but I still questioned many of the Bible’s teachings. I never heard anything from the man upstairs. I never felt that cushion when I was in a predicament. I struggled through a lot in high school that made me question why this God would let this happen to me. I knew that I disagreed with a lot of the things my father would talk to me about. I knew that love was love and that I was definitely not attracted to boys, but because of the debates my dad and I would have, I didn’t allow myself to lean into that feeling.
In the end, I do think that it allowed for many barriers to be put up. I didn’t allow myself to be me until my senior year when I decided on my beliefs and established that I was not a Christian. In my years before coming to college, my mother learned about new religions, and my father only established that there is one correct religion. Through both of their lessons, I have developed my sturdy beliefs, and every day I try to open my father’s mind. We learn a lot from each other to this day. I am lucky to have a father who preaches but also has been open to learning from other people’s opinions. Today, I have a dad who loves me and my girlfriend!