House Of Religion Part 1

"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction." - Blaise Pascal

After a while my mom and stepdad divorced, and my brother was taken away (a memory I would never forget). Mom and I eventually moved back to our hometown, for reasons I am unsure of, not that it matters. At first this was just another move; I remember being happy. A thin tall, for my age little girl. I remember being always told how beautiful I was (it always made me blush). I aspired to be a few things at that early age, a Brain Surgeon, or a nurse. I was a very clumsy and goofy girl, I remember school was easy and fun, but as I look back, I loved to write. Short stories about any topic you can think of a nerd I guess lol. At some point, I don’t remember specifics, but things started to change. Throughout my childhood I remember staying at family members’ homes for short times. One home I frequented is where things begin to cast a dark cloud over my childhood. Gibson street at the age of 8 or 9 specifically. My grandmother was a figure I did not know before this time, she was the biological parent of my mother. A heavy-set woman, very strict. If I can give her a book character, she was like the grandmother in the V.C. Andrew's novel “Flowers in the Attic ''. She was a religious woman and as I stated very strict, not more than normal, but there was a darkness about her that I noticed even at an early age I say religious because she went to church A LOT, like most grandmothers in the south, but did not display the southern sentiment of love and compassion nor did she live her life like some others I later met that could be considered religious. I had a few friends from school that I was not allowed to play with outside because she didn’t agree with the lifestyle of their parents. One day, I asked if I could go outside to play, she said OK but of course I couldn’t climb the trees (which I loved to do) or run up and down the street, which was different for me, but I obliged. I went about my way and started playing with my friend across the street. Within a few moments, she yelled “RASHEEMIA!! come here!!” Not knowing what was wrong I ran into the house. “I Don’t want you playing in the street, stay in the yard”, she fussed. “Okay grandma”, I replied. I proceeded out the door, not thinking about anything except going back to my friend. We continued to play on my side of the street this time, mostly in the yard. Soon after again, I hear “Rasheemia!! Didn’t I tell you not to play in the street!” At this point I am confused, not because she said that but because I truly was not in the street and there was something about her voice this time that had me a little worried. It was like a chill went over me, scared I began to walk back to the house, “Bring you but in the house” she yells. As I walk through the screen door and into the house I am met with full blown punches to my head as she is furious because she did not want me to play with my friend, I guess I did not get the hint. Immediately after, she yells out to her husband, a man I only knew as that and a deacon at the church we attended. He begins to scold me about misbehaving and how I needed to pray to God for the disobedience. This is my first time, but not only time on my knees calling on Jesus, to rid me of my disobedient spirit and for him to forgive me. Later that night, my punishment was to read the bible and continue to pray for forgiveness. This would be one of many days/nights where I would end up on that porch praying to Jesus on my knees. Sometimes not alone. This was normal in the house for her grandchildren when the deacon was around. At some point this began to change….