My Path; Vol. 1

“It isn’t where you came from, its where you’re going that counts.”

Ella Fitzgerald

In order to explain my path, I have to explain where I’m from. My intentions are to cover every aspect of where I’m going, so I want to be thorough with every inch of it. If you have questions please ask.

Here we go!

I grew up in a town where churches were on every corner. You cannot drive a straight mile without spotting a church. With a small population of 16,482, it’s safe to say Bristol Virginia is your normal southern small town.

I love where I’m from. I really do but if your drinking in public your basically frowned upon. If you have any sort of marking that looks close to witchcraft, your given dirty looks. If not a dirty look you have a elderly person stopping you trying to preach the word of God without asking what your beliefs are. Yes this has happened to me, not because of something I’ve worn out, but because I simply tried to smile and go on about my business. The only thing that stops me from confronting the person is that I grew up with the rule of respecting your elders. That’s something I’ll always abide by. Mainly because they’ve been here longer then you, don’t disrespect that. Should they still mind their own business? Yes, they should. They were also raised with “the word of God” pounded in their heads. It’s the only way they know in life.

How My Parents Raised Me

Growing up, my mom and dad didn’t go to church every Sunday and Wednesday. They do believe in God though. They didn’t force me to read the Bible or go to church. Which, honestly, I’m thankful for. My dad has spoke of his beliefs on and off as I’ve gotten older but for me to recall what he’s said is hard. That’s how brief he is. He has told me he believes in heaven and that God exist. My mother is the same. But when I was a kid, I never thought about that stuff. I just wanted to watch tv and play with my toys. As a kid you have other priorities going on instead of worrying about where your going in the after life.

Story Time!

Once when I was around eight years old, my parents let me go to church with one of my aunts. I loved it. I made several friends. I do not talk to them now though. This lasted a few months till my aunt gained five grandchildren, by marriage. She adored them, naturally as they were her first. I was just a niece. Her husbands brothers daughter specifically.

The kids began going to church with us. I didn’t mind at the time. The youngest one in fact was my age. That part I loved because the range of kids in the Sunday school class I had were very wide. The youngest was five then the oldest was around fourteen. These five kids spanned those ages too. The time frame of all this may be off from my retelling because it was so long ago now.

For a while, every Sunday my aunt would pick me up with at least three of the five kids. It was a nice thing to look forward to. Until one day my mom got a call from my aunt telling her that she no longer had enough room for me to ride to church with them. I’d suddenly have to ride with a cousin who had recently started going. I was hurt. This started a grudge with me. A big one now that I look back on it. I began hating these kids who had suddenly stepped foot into my family. I also began to hate churches for a long, long time. As you can imagine, I didn’t ask the cousin for rides. I just stopped going.

To Be Continued…

Check back in the coming days for a part two!

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Donnie says:

    This post was awesome….never feel bad or regret being honest. Pagan / Wiccian was practiced first until the Church took over and thats a horror story in its own. When people are taught the same thing over and over they never question if its real. I have never believed in Relegion (prob spelled that because I have always questioned where does the god come from and nobody will answer me or they always say We are not allowed to question…fuck that!!!! Be yourself girlie and ask questons!!!!


  2. I can’t wait to read more! I too, Only went to church every once in a while as a child. (My dad was an alcoholic and he’d go for a month or two – and bring me along – and then stop. But every Easter we went.) I never once felt comfortable though. Keep sharing your story!!! 🖤

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s