Religious Persecution in America

I am very thankful for a non-religious up-bringing. I was raised to be a moral, kind and compassionate member of a community. I remember at about what age it became apparent to me that being raised outside of a church wasn't a normal thing in the part of the country I was raised.

In second grade, the teacher actually took an oral survey of what church each student attended with his/her family. She started at the opposite side of the room from where I sat so I listened as each kid dutifully (and knowledgeably) spouted off their affiliation. By time she got to me, all but one or two other kids had a church on record with the school. I saw the reaction to the kids who said they didn't go and decided I would adopt the church near my house. The church was named Yount Memorial Baptist Church. However, at seven years old and seeing the relatively small print on the sign, somehow I thought it said "Youth"; so that's what I said when it was my turn, "The Youth Church". The teacher didn't ask any questions, she just snarled her lip and said, in a most condescending tone, "That figures." I had no idea what that meant at the time but I did find out very soon that she didn't like the fact that I went to the "Youth Church". I was moved to the front of the room, scrutinized and ridiculed at most every opportunity. This same teacher even came to my desk and picked me up by the hair at one point.

Now, prior to this, I had had a promising academic career. I was the only child in my kindergarten class who knew how to read on the first day of school. I could count as high as needed, knew all my letters, both upper and lower case and could write them as well. I was a star pupil. In first grade, I was actually moved up to fourth grade for a week because I was so far ahead of the other students. They moved me back for several reasons. First, big distraction to the fourth graders. Second, I was able to conceptualize at their level just fine but was unable to complete work at the necessary speed. I was just thrown in with no coaching, no briefing, no instruction as to what was happening. They just put me at the back of the fourth grade classroom and I was supposed to take it from there. It didn't work.

If only it had. The next year proved to be a crossroad in my life. I went from being confident eager to learn to being one of the "bad kids". I still haven't figured out how I managed to get poor grades when I was doing the work correctly. I have always been a good speller but that year I actually got D's in spelling. This can only be the result of grade tampering by the teacher. My parents missed the clues and I didn't know there were any. Like any kid that age, I blamed myself, both for the bad grades and for the bad treatment I received. This was 1973. My life was changed for the worse because of religious persecution in America in 1973.