A Baptism of Choice

I had never paid attention to the church’s name. I never remembered the faces I saw or who people said they were when Mom introduced them to me. I couldn’t remember a single detail about the whole thing except for a cardinal’s nest on the roof. The only thing I could remember about the place was the bright red bird. Its crimson feathers looked so gorgeous standing out against the black roof. At least, it looked gorgeous from what I could remember. 

My family had a tradition, being of strong Christian beliefs, Baptism was normal. Yet, my parents wanted to take pride in it being their kids’ choice to dip down in the tub. On our eighteenth birthday we're expected to say we want to get baptized. My older sister had agreed to it, my mother had done it, my aunt had done it, my uncle, my cousins. Such a large part of my family had followed the tradition, but here I stood in my bedroom. I dreaded the moment I had to look my parents in the face and say I didn't want to get baptized.

Every Sunday I had band practice and right after would be a shift at work or a study group for Anatomy. Every Wednesday if the family was going to service, I suddenly had a study group to attend. I could try anything to get out of being in that building. Any excuse was better than having to look the priest in the eyes. Anything was better than looking at him and knowing he had seen Amanda and me. Just remembering it made my blood run cold. I had hoped my mom and dad would take the hint. That I didn’t want to go to church. That I was gay. That I wasn’t Christian.

I took a deep breath, feeling it sit within the cage of my chest. I pressed my hands across the outfit I had picked out. For this occasion, Dad had gotten a dress for me to wear. It was a gingham print Sunday dress with a yellow ribbon around the waist. Mom had gotten me a set of rose gold hoop earrings to wear with the dress. I wore neither. I stood clothed in a baby blue button up, black jeans with a loose and casual black blazer. I ran my hands along my shaved head. Mom had gone berserk, cried and threw an absolute tantrum over it. Dad refused to look at me if I wasn’t wearing a hat. They would have to deal with this. I would have to deal with this, despite the growing dread in my gut. My phone vibrated from my desk. I checked it. My sister had sent me a message, “We’re ready.” I felt my blood run cold. I pressed a clammy hand to my forehead.

Everyone would be down there, waiting for me to say that I wanted to get baptized. Yet, Amanda would be there. She would expect nothing from me but to be honest and have fun. She would be waiting for me and she would make me smile no matter what. I felt a brief joy come. Amanda would be down there. Newfound confidence enveloped me, and I slid into my house shoes. I swung up my bedroom door and made my way down the stairs. I was met with confetti and happy yells. Only my mom and dad grew silent as I finally fully appeared. Amanda rushed to hug me. 

“You look amazing, Sarah!” she cheered, laughing brightly. She gave my hand a firm squeeze and Amelia came next. “Happy birthday, lil sis, don’t waste the day.” A teasing wink left her expression, and I felt a bit comforted. Despite Amelia’s better treatment she had always been a sweetheart. Then, my eyes shifted towards my parents. My dad was flat faced, my mom’s smile was strained. I made my way to them, as my friends and family mingled for a moment so I could talk to my parents.

“Why didn’t you wear the dress?” Was the first thing to leave my dad’s mouth. “Harold! It is her birthday, be kind. She might be saving it for Church this Sunday. Right, Sarah darling?” My mom’s baby blues searched for agreement. I gripped my hands at my side. All my courage left me, and I felt cold sweat bead all over my skin. Everything felt like it was closing in… but Amanda was there. If worse came to worse, I could go, and we would hop in her car and leave until things were better. That was the general plan if things got bad, anyway. 

“I don’t… want to go to Church on Sunday.” 

“Oh, I thought you asked off from band practice—”

“Mom. I don’t want… a baptism.”

“Oh sweetheart, I know it might be a bit nerve wracking but it’s just like competing for a band.” Mom reached out to give me a comforting squeeze on my shoulder.

I shook my head firmly, looking at her and my dad. Dad remained stone-faced, mom remained with a taught smile and furrowed brows. I felt bad. I felt sick. All this hope and want placed onto me, it felt suffocating. “I’m not Christian.” I found the words leaving my lips. 

Both their faces fell. Dad looked angrier more than anything. Mom looked like she was going to cry, like she took personal offense to this. I struggled to find an explanation. “At least, I don’t think I am right now. I don’t want a Baptism. I don’t want to put myself into something like that just yet. I don’t know anything about my beliefs and…” I felt my own tears prick my eyes. Dad reached out and I felt his hand give me the firm squeeze this time. “It’s okay.” His deep, vibrato voice came out low and firm. 

“It’s okay. Right, Marnie?” He looked at my mom. She looked at him then at me and gave a firm nod. “There’s a choice for a reason in it, sweetie.” she exhaled, her voice trembling yet never breaking entirely. “You can make the choice to do it. If you don’t, then you don’t have to.” She and my dad hugged me both. I felt relief flood over my entire being. Breaking tradition is terrifying… it’s horrifying. However, knowing that they still cared. Knowing they still loved me was enough to make it okay. 

“Now, let’s enjoy your birthday party.”