Friday, February 10, 2012


I was just cleaning out the attic and ran across the certificate I was given after I was baptised.

Did I ever tell y'all the story of my baptism? Hmmm...

I left my pagan beginnings for awhile during my teen years, for a variety of reasons, and decided to join a church at 16. I had a deeply moving spiritual experience in that church. Maybe I'll share that some other time, but today is about my baptism.

The church I'd joined was quite small, not more than 100 people in the congregation at any given time. The building reflected that, with no room for a baptismal, and so baptisms were done in the local YMCA pool. Yes indeed. Though my mother was adamantly against my new-found faith (she didn't care if I dabbled in witchcraft, but please for the love of god do not join that Christian cult), but she agreed to come to my baptism and bring her video camera.

I was very body conscious as a teen, so the church tried to accomodate my fear of bathing suits by allowing me to dress in a choir robe. In pictures of that day, I looked like a fucking advertisement for purity: long blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin glowing, choir robe disguising any shape to my thin, developing body.

Eventually it was my turn to be dunked. I hardly remember what was said in those moments because I was completely overcome with Spirit. I know there were words said, questions asked and answered. I saw the red light of the camcorder as my mother prepared to capture the memory. A hand pressed against my forehead, another holding steady at the small of my back as the pastor bent me backwards to cleanse me. Everyone was quiet, reverant. Just before I hit the water, I heard my mother's voice cry out, "SHIT!"

Her video camera had run out of batteries. I've never again heard such a deafening echo.

It was all downhill from there.

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