My dad was a Methodist Minister when I was a kid. I was president of my youth group. I went on camping trips and mission trips with the church. I was very active in church and had a lot of friends there.

My parents had strict rules about church behavior. No taking, no writing, you were there to listen. I didn’t like it, but I did it. I always commented about how other kids got to draw on the bulletins, but not us. My parents had none of it.. we were there to listen. If you didn’t understand something, you asked.

When I was about nine years old, I was allowed to start sitting with my friends. One particular Sunday stands out in my mind. I was sitting with my friends and I knew better then to talk, so I scribbled notes on the bulletin. Somehow from the pulpit my father was able to figure out what I was doing and he stopped the service. He called to me from the pulpit and asked me to join him up front. He made me sit the rest of the service in the throne chair. And I was in BIG TROUBLE when we got home from church. I mostly remember my father telling me afterwards that if I couldn’t sit with my friends and follow the rules, then I wouldn’t sit with my friends and he would pick where I would sit.

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