I was baptized when I was eight years old. In the Mormon religion they wait until the age of eight because children know the difference between right and wrong. Choice and accountability is very important. I was that taught that baptizing babies did not make sense. Babies do not understand baptism as a commitment. At my eighth birthday I would be absolved of all my sins. A clean slate before I entered into a lifelong commitment with God. Let’s wipe away all those dirty eight year old sins kid, start fresh.
Before my eighth birthday my dad sat me down for a baptism talk. He wanted to know did I have any questions. No questions here, I replied:
I’ve been thinking about this whole baptism thing Daddy, and I just don’t know if being Mormon is for me. I don’t want to get baptized.
That went over like a ton of bricks. My poor dad nearly had a heart attack. He promptly drove me to the local church bookstore and bought every workbook in sight. When my younger sister turned eight she didn’t understand why she got the giant stack of half used hand me down workbooks…
Although I voiced my decision not become Mormon, I was baptized anyways. My small eight year old hands held tightly to my father’s arm as he plunged me into the cool water of the baptismal font. There was no ethereal joy. I felt uncomfortable and heavy. My white double knit baptismal jumpsuit clung awkwardly to my eight year old body.
It would be ten more years before I exercised my way out of the Mormon religion. It’s funny looking back, seeing that I knew what was best for me, even at the tender age of eight.
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