The Book Before I was born, there was a woman on my Dad’s side of the family. I didn’t hear her name until one day, when I overheard my parents talking in a room nearby. I was eight at the time. This woman was Aunt Grace. So, the story I heard goes. This brought me to the thoughts I had when I awoke this morning. The thing that disturbed my parents about me at age eight was my faith. It wasn’t like theirs. And the only person that they could compare it to, was this woman in my Dad’s life till 1962, Aunt Grace. My Dad’s Aunt Grace was a Christian Science Practitioner. I was born after she’d died that same year. No one I knew fifty years ago ever read the Bible. Nor spoke about doing so on any regular basis. People went to church, and that was that. My maternal grandmother said one day about church to me, “…When mass was in Latin. He could’ve been selling us a basket of bread. And I wouldn’t have known the difference…” Meanwhile, I was praying and imagining miracles
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