I wrote this piece in response to an invitation from Holly to participate in a panel presentation at the annual Sunstone conference. The panel was described as an effort to examine “how reading forbidden works of literature can be a soul-saving act of resistance to spiritual and political oppression�Ķpanelists will explore the relationship between their readings of literature�Ķand their efforts to find spiritual maturity.” Being neither literary nor spiritually mature, I’m not sure if I met Holly’s expectations, but I did struggle more to create this piece than anything else I’ve written. What follows is a personal and soul-searching exploration of my relationship between myself, my father and my Father:

I was thirteen when I came home from school one day to find a Playboy magazine on my bed. I suspect that this was my Dad’s way of introducing me to the facts of life. When I turned sixteen, my best friend, a Mormon, invited me to early morning seminary–6am scripture study classes. Within a few months I had a shaky conviction in the truth of the Book of Mormon and the existence of God. Out went the Playboy. In came my brand new triple combination.

At the beginning of my senior year of high school, I had a stronger testimony of the truth, was winning scripture chase competitions in seminary and wanted to get baptized. My father, however, refused to give his consent. About this time, I was reading Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. The primary villain in this story is called IT�–the disembodied brain that controls the people of Camazotz. While under the control of this overmind, the brilliant Charles Wallace explains the benefits of IT to his sister: “Why do you think people get confused and unhappy? Because they all live their own, separate individual lives. I’ve been trying to explain to you in the simplest possible way that on Camazotz individuals have been done away with. Camazotz is ONE mind. It’s IT. And that’s why everybody’s so happy and efficient.” I can’t remember making parallels between IT and the Church, but I do know that after reading this book, my conviction of Mormonism went into a tailspin.

I tried to regain control and halt the dive by retrenching. I wrote a note to myself that essentially said, “I will not read anything that makes me doubt or question my faith.” I left this on my bookshelf where I could see it whenever I walked in or out of my room. The next evening, I was sitting on my bed reading (probably the scriptures) when my father stormed in and began shouting at me. He was angry because he had seen the note. In his rage he pulled the bookcase down. I distinctly remember the smell of Polo cologne from the shattered bottle. I curled up on my bed into a fetal position, sobbing, hands over my head. Standing over me he said, “You will stop going to seminary. You are not to go to church. You are not to go to any activities where most of those present are Mormons. You will return all of your church books to your friends or throw them away.”

During the next few days, I commiserated with my LDS friends. They were concerned, but they were in awe as well. I went into full persecuted-Mormon-mode. I kept a triple combination hidden between my mattress and box spring. I tore the covers and spine off of the only other church book I owned, a paperback copy of the Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith. In spite of my involvement in honors classes, student government, sports, my girlfriend and a busy social life, I read the Book of Mormon in secret several times before the end of the school year. I have never read the scriptures more than when I was forbidden to read them.

I went away to the university that offered the best balance of distance from home and financial aid. I joined the Church the day after I turned 18. When I called my father to tell him about it, he said, “You are not to return home. You are not to talk to your brothers–but you can speak to your mother.” We argued and then he hung up on me. My father had killed his relationship with his oldest son.

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