Being fourteen years old is never easy. Especially when you're a prominent Baptist preacher's daughter growing up right in the middle of the Bible Belt. Everyone was always watching what I wore, making sure my skirts weren't too short and my tops weren't too tight. I never got to be a ballerina because growing up Baptist, all dancing was apparently evil. I had the lead in every play and the most solos in every musical. It was a given. It got to the point where I would stride into the audition room, roll my eyes, half way smile and say, "Seriously, you want me to audition?" I knew my place on the stage and I was most comfortable in the spotlight in front of sometimes 5,000 people. My world was quite literally a stage. Everybody wanted to be my friend. You loved me for my popularity or you hated me because I was too snobby to be your friend. In reality I never snubbed people on purpose. I just couldn't figure out how to balance my time between the people who really wanted to be my friends and the people who just wanted to know the "right" people. And my personality even to this day is a quiet one. If I don't have something to say, my mouth usually stays shut, and that can come off as rather aloof and snobbish I suppose. But I almost had it down, the whole social hierarchy of my environment. I almost had my life pegged. And then February 19th, 1994 happened.

I knew there had been meetings taking place downstairs in the living room of our 5,000 square foot custom-built, Williamsburg, colonial-style house. And I had definitely not been privy to them. I was told to stay in my room and keep myself amused. That weekend mom and dad decided to take us on a weekend get away to a nearby resort. We played tennis alot, and other than that it was utterly boring. Laying in the back seat of the suburban, driving home on Saturday afternoon Dad's cell phone rang. All I could hear was his end of the conversation.

"They called a deacon's meeting without me? Does that not strike anyone as the least bit deceptive? It's poison. It's all lies and poison. I've fought it long enough. I'm tired. I can't do it anymore."

Dad hung up the phone. Mom's teeth were clenched and her face was turning red. Dad said in a quiet voice, "They've asked for my resignation."

Without hesitation my mother said, "No way. You're not going to give it to them. This is wrong and you cannot stand for it."

"I don't see what else I can do."

I remember the heat rising up into my face. This world that I had known since I was seven years old was crumbling right in front of my eyes and lay in a heap right next to me in a 1993 green Chevy Suburban. I felt the tears welling up and they became uncontrollable. This was my life. They weren't asking my dad to resign. They were asking me to let go of every friendship, every acquaintance, every security in my fourteen year old life. You see, since the day I was born, my life was church, family, and school. And since I went to a private Christian school, many of my school friends were my church friends also. This changed everything.

Mom looked back at me and in an attempt to make sense out of my sobs, she said, "Ashly why are you crying?"

I said the only thing I could think of to say, "Is it wrong to hope that some people will go to hell?" She said yes. And I didn't care.

So Sunday morning came. I met my best friend Liz in the foyer and said, "Get Lori. I've got to talk to you guys." You have to understand that Liz, Lori, and me were inseparable. Liz since third grade, Lori since fifth. If we weren't physically by eachother's sides, we were on the phone. There was no life without Liz and Lori. They were just as attached to me as my right and left arms. I took them both into the bathroom outside the auditorium. I could see feet underneath the stall doors, so I tried to keep it quiet. "Dad is resigning this morning." Lori didn't say anything and started crying immediately. Then she threw her arms around me and wouldn't let go. Then Liz did the same. All I could hear were muffled fourteen year old "no's" and "I love you's." You see, they knew what I knew. This meant not only would we not hang out at church and all of our church functions together, but I would have to change schools because of the controversial nature of the ordeal. It was very heated and people were very volatile. I might as well have been moving to Alaska.

So with an auditorium packed with every bit of 5,000 people I watched my father make his case to people who had lied, and been hateful, and even made death threats against me and my ten year old sister. I saw him vindicate himself that day and I had never been more proud to be his daughter. Even as a fourteen year old Baptist preacher's daughter who always tried to do the right thing, I could barely fight the urge to stand up and scream at the top of my lungs, "Fuck YOU!" I remember mom asking us to sit next to her on the front row next to the door so we could make an expedient exit. I didn't understand why until dad started walking down the steps of the stage. Mom grabbed each of our hands and we stood to leave. A woman two rows behind me ran out into the isle and started screaming something unintelligible that sounded something like, "You can't leave." But there was a very hateful hiss of desperation in her voice. And suddenly people all over this massive auditorium began standing and shouting. Suddenly armed police officers entered through the doors where we were exiting. I was extremely overwhelmed and confused at this point. I looked up at one of them with what I know must have been an ardent expression of terror on my fourteen year old face. "We're escorting you out to the car just in case. Walk quickly please." I put my head down, got a grip on my little sisters right hand and damn near sprinted in my Sunday dress to our car.

My most vivid memory is sitting in my parent's bedroom floor after we got home and hearing knocks on our doors and windows from the dozens of people who couldn't get in the neighborhood gates, so they had jumped the backyard fence to our house. The only thing I could think is, "What am I going to do tonight with no church to go to? And school tomorrow. Oh no." And I cried. And I couldn't stop. Mom held me and said everything would be alright. Dad didn't say a word. In fact, I'm not sure I remember him speaking the rest of that day.

We got a phone call that night saying that fist fights had broken out after we left and that people were screaming and cursing at eachother throughout the auditorium. A deacon actually punched my uncle in the face.

And there are still people who look down on me for questioning the relevance and authenticity of so-called "Christianity" and organized religion.

And from that day on, things went from bad to worse.

the he's

I can't even look at him
Those lips still make me want
To cry
But then I think about the things
Those lips
Have produced
And I hear moans and sighs
And lies
And regrets
And the word mistake
And then I want to make
Those lips
Bleed
I noticed he was wearing my ring
It's been 4 years
And he still wears it
But only occasionally
Just like he loves me
No one loves me enough
To pick me
At crunch time
But I guess when you're naked
Your judgment is skewed
Boys are so easily tricked into love
They think its definition consists of
Nipples and wetness
And sharp breaths and shakey legs
You're not in love with me
I just make you feel good
I tried to tell you that in the beginning
But just like you don't love me
You don't listen