Hello, everyone. Here is a story I wrote last year. I never posted it because, I felt it wasn't good enough, but it is a story I really liked. So I decided to submit it anyway. If you like it, fine. If not, well that's OK too.
I certainly hope you read it. It's a long read, but I think it will be worth it in the end. If you are going to search for errors and mistakes, I'm sure you will find plenty, as this is self-edited, but please don't let human error distract you from the story.
IR2R
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Chapter 1
Ross Thompson
My name is Ross Thompson. I am the fifth born, and the third son of Bishop Robert Thompson and First Lady Evelyn Thompson.
Growing up in a church family is no easy feat, everything relates back to the bible, or gospel. If we kids wanted to get into anything, we had to prove it was wholesome.
My parents had seven kids and we were all actively involved in the church. Even when we didn't want to, we were expected to be active members. I cannot recall a Sunday when we didn't attend The Greater Harvest Pentecostal Apostolic Faith Church of Zion, GHPA for short.
We weren't allowed to date any one that was not of the church. We could not go to dances, parties, or anything that played the devil's music. None of us were allowed to go to prom. Our friends were screened, and if it was hinted that one of them went against the church's teachings, our friendship was over.
My best friend growing up was a guy named Rory. We met in pre-K, and played together every day at school.
Rory's birthday was in early one April and he happily invited me to his party. I was so excited. I rushed home, my six year old heart bursting with gladness. "Momma, momma," I yelled. "Can I go to Rory's house for his party, please?" I begged.
Momma looked at me. Shaking her head she firmly answered. "Ross, no, you cannot go over Rory's house. His family is not..." She stopped recognizing the look of total devastation on my face. I was only six and didn't understand. I only knew Momma wouldn't let me go. She politely but firmly called Rory's mom and explained to her that because of our religion, I couldn't participate in any activities that played secular music, so although we were friends at school, I would not be able to go to his house for his birthday. That night as she tucked me in bed, she explained why I could not go to my best friend's party. "Now, Ross, I know you might not understand. But, Rory is not the type of little boy you need to be friends with. His family doesn't serve God, well, not in the right way.
"But Momma, his family goes to church, too." I tried to tell her.
"We can't be around people that don't believe in God the way that we do. You can be nice to him at school, but you cannot go to his house." Momma finally stated. Then she held me for a while as I cried, and she left my room.
I didn't understand. Momma said I couldn't be friends with my best friend. That night, my heart was crushed.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
I sobbed.
Why couldn't I go? He was my best friend. I don't care what church he goes to.
Silently, I cried myself to sleep.
The next day, Momma made sure she bought Rory a nice gift. She even bought me a toy robot I wanted, but I was still hurt. I wanted to go to that party. I told Rory that I wasn't allowed to go to his birthday party because he didn't believe in God the way that we did. I could tell by the look on his face that he didn't understand it any more than I did but the thing that I remember the most was the look of hurt in his eyes. That look of hurt however, was replaced by a look of excitement when I handed him his birthday gift. It was as if the hurt of my revelation was never there.
We remained friends until he moved away. I remember the day that Rory told me that he was moving. My heart actually hurt. He had been my best friend and confidant and now I had no one. The day he left was probably one of the worst days in my short life. I remembered trying not to cry, to swallow the lump in my throat but I failed. The tears came and you know what? I didn't care. My brothers tried to cheer me up, but they didn't get it.
Growing up was difficult for me. I fought with my brothers, argued with my sisters because I was so angry. I didn't have any friends. No one wanted to be around me. Momma had so many dumb rules and I was always, always in trouble.
Overtime, I learned to sit when told, listen when grown folks were talking, and keep quiet unless I was asked to speak. Did I agree with everything they did? No, but to keep the peace, I went along whatever they came up with. One day when I was in Junior High, after being teased all day, the anger that was seething inside me came to the surface.
You see, church people wore two faces. On one side they appeared caring and loving, always saying nice things to encourage others. But when they were away from the church, some of them were the meanest, most conniving people you'd ever meet.
My Dad had just been named Pastor of GHPA, and everyone in the family was expected to be actively involved in the church. I just wanted to be left alone. Mom wanted more and like always she pushed. I was fourteen, with out of control hormones, so I pushed back.
In a fit of anger and hurt, I told her what I thought of her so called holiness, and how she was only nice to people she liked. If they didn't go to our church, she treated them like crap. I expounded upon her ill-treatment of my best friend. I simply told Mom how I felt.
She screamed for my Dad and he came into the room. My fist were clenched and drawn into my sides. My heart pounded. I inhaled a deep breath as fury consumed me. My eyes were filled with rage as I stared at the one person who was the target for my ire. I just had to get the feelings off of my chest.
Dad stepped in. He stood between Mom and me, effectively blocking her from my view. "Go to your room, Now! Ross." He ordered in a calm voice. I've never been more afraid than I was in that moment. I looked at my father. I was frustrated, tired, and hurting. I wanted to scream at the injustices that were being done, but I said nothing. I simply stood and walked to my room barely holding in the tears of defeat that threatened to fall.