The beginning of my outcast days in school came in third grade. Our school district had a program for gifted kids to go to another school for one day a week and do extra "enrichment" activities... anyway, we were working on building bridges out of toothpicks and glue when the subject of religion came up somehow. My best friend from long before I had become a witness (and who I naturally drifted away from) was there, along with three or four other mutual "friends". Somehow, I got into an argument with one of them about hell.
I, being the good witness, explained that she (along with everyone else) was going to go to hell.
For some reason, she got upset. She was very unreasonable, not letting me explain that hell was just "the common grave" (whateve that was), and everyone turned on me, former best friend included. Marcy later told her mom on me, who told my teacher, who told my mom. (Ironically, I didn't get in trouble, because my mom thought that telling someone they were going to hell "didn't sound like her daughter". And my mom is NOT the sort of person to stand up for her kids no matter what.) That was, however, the last time I was tolerated amid that particular clique, and I grew to dread having to go to GATE class ever week because I knew I had no friends there.
Then there was the inaguaral prayer...
In fifth grade, my teacher, who was very patriotic but (I thought) tolerant of witness beliefs, brought all of us to the school cafeteria to watch Bill Clinton's inaugaral ceremony on the television there.
I managed to sit toward the back, and everything was going well... until some religious guy got up and started to say a PRAYER for the president. My teacher motioned for everyone to stand up, out of respect, and I, of course, remained seated.
There was another witness in my class that year, however; it was the first year that had ever happened. He was even an elder's son. Robby, however, stood up for the prayer, kind of heisitantly, than looked back at me and guiltily sat down, only to get up again when the teacher confronted him. So much for moral support.
Then my teacher came over to me, demanding why I was staying so "defiantly" seated. She was shaking with rage, and I was so taken aback that I couldn't get out a coherent reason why I thought standing for for a prayer at a political event was so evil. She pointed to Robby (now standing again) and demanded the obvious explanation. And she wouldn't let me explain later, like I wanted to, when everyone in the auditorium wasn't looking at us, amused that I was getting in trouble for once (I was one of those sorts of kids).
I don't remember how I got out of there, but it took a conference with my mother before she calmed down. I, of course, took all of the wrong lessons of that incident.
-Tergiversator