Looking back, my childhood was almost idyllic. I spent my first 12 years in Atlanta and the rest of my growing up years in Michigan. I had loving parents who were married to each other. I never knew poverty. I lived in great neighborhoods with lots of kids and everyone knew each other. Mom didn’t work outside the home, but she sure worked hard in it. We ate family meals together more often than not. I went to a Bible-preaching church pretty much anytime the doors were open.
School time came. I went to the local public school; Christian schools and home schooling weren’t available yet. Mom and dad chose where they would live, both in Georgia and Michigan, based on the public school system. We prayed in our Georgia schools — every morning. We pledged the flag — all of us — no one stayed seated. We even read from the Bible in our Georgia schools — every morning. We were taught a love for America. We were taught America represented freedom, hope, and opportunity for all of us and for those “huddled masses yearning to be free” from all over the world.
For the most part, I loved school and felt very secure there — until the day came in when we had an announcement over the PA telling us we would be having a special drill — in case of a missile attack. “A what? From where?” I wondered as I took c ...
