I think this is where the camera stops....and takes me back through my life in order to show how I got in this space of time and in this situation. I grew up thinking that I was normal, doesn't everybody? I was born in 1951 to a mom and dad that wanted me and loved me. My dad had fought in WW II from the age of 17-21. He married my mom in 1947 and their first baby was my brother born in 1948. I was born in 1951 and eventually three little sisters were happily added to the family. We lived in a new town in Utah called Kearns. I still remember my address, 4331 West 5255 South. Our house faced North and when I stood in my front yard, I could see the large mountains to the East and the small mountains, the Oquirrhs) to the West. That is how I learned the directions, East, West, North, and South. To this day, that is how I know where I am, by looking at the mountains.
We lived in a new subdivision of all brick homes with un-attached brick garages. This is important because a "brick" house signified a "better" house. We had a chain link fence around the entire yard, with a double gate at the end of the driveway that could be opened to allow the car in and out of the yard. My parents insisted on this fence to keep the little ones safe in the yard and out of the road and it worked for the little ones. However, the road was our play ground most of the day. We rode our bikes in the road, we played baseball, kick ball, hide and seek, and kick-the-can endlessly. Other childhood activities for my friends and I were roller-skating, playing with jacks, jumping rope, playing hopscotch and hours and hours of playing house. Our imaginations were vivid, our energy limitless, and our world free of bad stuff. What I mean by this is that there was no bad stuff in our life, at least that we recognized or mentioned. The war to end all wars was over, we all lived in nice houses, we all had decent clothes to wear and good food on the table. Our dads went to work and our moms stayed home and raised us. It was a good life and we were happy.
Everyone in my neighborhood went to church. At that time I thought we all went to the same church until a Catholic Church was built at the top of our street. One day I was talking with a new girl in school and she asked me what church I went to. All I could tell her was the location of the church that I went to, I didn't know that it actually had a a name or that I could be identified by a specific name such as "a Catholic, Methodist, etc." This girl gave me two choices: either I was a Catholic or a Mormon. I thought about it for a while, passing both of the names around in my head while frantically searching for any clue that could tell me who I was. I couldn't find one...no clue. I decided that the word Catholic sounded nicer than Mormon so I told her that I was a Catholic. In reality I was a true blue, dyed in the wool, descendant of Mormon Pioneers! I must have been younger than eight when I was asked that question because after I was baptized, I knew who I was. Now days even the youngest of children in Primary can tell you who they are. Our church is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and we are referred to as L.D.S. or "the Mormons." This is important to know because this is who I am, and this is partly why I ended up in the situation.