10/18/2004 | Share this article: View Commentssent in by Wayne McCoy
I was brought up in a Southern Baptist family, in the '40s and 50s. My mother's side, with whom we had the most contact, were pretty on being Christian. My grandfather was instrumental in getting the pastor for our church, my mother played the organ and my father sang in the choir. I didn't learn until many years later that my father was not all that strong in his belief. But I think the strongest influence was my grandmother, a daughter of the Old South. In any case, by the time I reached high school, I was teaching Sunday School, singing in the choir, going to church about four times a week, praying regularly. I graduated from HS and went off into the Army. For some reason, some of my fellow soldiers saw fit to pick on me, perhaps because I was small. But I had my faith to sustain me. Looking back on it now, I can see that the faith did little to sustain me. I got more help from the black soldiers in my unit, who endured not a little prejudice on our bases in the Deep South.
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