My first and strongest memory of my faith beginning isn't related to a family member, or participating in a sacrament, or witnessing a miracle. Strangely enough, it's about the emotional reaction I had when someone said something about me.
I was in fifth grade and had recently moved from the Lincoln Park neighborhood in Chicago to the northern suburbs. I was attending a new church and new Sunday school class with kids I didn't know and a teacher who was the father of one of my classmates.
On one particular day that I don't recall the rest of, after a Sunday school lesson I don't remember the topic of, my teacher walked over to my father and exclaimed, "Boy, she sure asks a lot of questions!"
My father chuckled.
I, on the other hand, was paralyzed with fear.
Blood rushing to my face.
Naturally, questions bubbled up in my mind at lightning speed. Was he suggesting I was a skeptic? Scolding me for not knowing my religion? Or was it a compliment?