December 29, 1970, while still only fourteen, I became a Christian, which is to say that God as Jesus became so real and immediate to me that this could mean nothing less than a complete change in my life. My mother, who didn't see it this way, tried to convince me that I had been brainwashed by fanatics. Over the following year, the daily irrefutable evidence of huge and positive changes in my life convinced her that this was not brainwashing and that if she was going to oppose my spiritual vocation then she would be opposing God. She accepted it and even in her way became supportive of my faith.
From the Jesus People, who facilitated my newfound Christian faith, I was receiving a very dual message: I was to obey and honour my parents in all things; I was to forsake all, including my parents and family and follow Jesus. When the pressure grew that I had to make this pyrrhic choice I left what was once the Jesus People Army. I was still only fifteen and the first real family away from my family that I had known had become a toxic society-hating cult. I knew I was too young to legally or sensibly leave my mother. I also knew that she needed me as much as I needed her. Independently I made the sensible choice.
My father remained absent during this time though Mom had been laying on the pressure that I had to see him sometimes, even if he didn't want to see me. I visited him one Sunday afternoon after church in his apartment. He was drunk and wouldn't get off the couch. I tried to visit while he lay there sprawled and drunk. I cut the visit short. As I was leaving my father asked me from the couch if I'd kiss him on the forehead. I said no and, feeling frightened, I hurried out the door.
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