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Show in my father's house/ 145 He sighed. "What they always want. To interfere with the Lord's work. To exercise their non-existent power." "Why did they talk so mean, Daddy?" He shook his head. "Because they have no true priesthood. They struggle with Satan every day, and he will gradually take them over." "But we don't have to worry, right Daddy?" He squinted at me in the bright light. The way his brow furrowed, I thought he must have a headache. Then suddenly he broke into a wide grin and picked me up. "One thing's for certain, darling. You don't need to worry about it." I started kindergarten in May, certain that I would love school. Most of my brothers and sisters had excelled there, and I fully expected to follow in their footsteps. But I had not yet learned about the state of Zion, how the members of the Church of Jesus Christ were not always so Christian to those who weren't of them. And we fundamentalists were an embarrassment, like poor relatives or uninvited guests at a wedding, a reminder of a past that the Mormon Church preferred to keep buried, or at least closeted. The start of school induced my first realization that beyond our fence, our group, I was considered illegitimate. I had no Birth Certificate to present to the principal as proof that I had been born. And my mother had no Marriage Certificate |