When you turn eight in the LDS church, you are now 'accountable'. That's actually how it is stated: the age of accountability. When you are seven years and 364 days old, you are not responsible for the choices you make because you simply don't know any better. But once that day clicks over into eight years old, watch out. Now you have to repent for your mistakes. You should know better, after all. You are eight. This means you are ready to be baptized and make a sacred covenant with God to live His gospel and be obedient. In doing so, you are promised blessings and you are officially a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. You can now receive the gift of the Holy Ghost through the 'laying on of hands', (aka priesthood power) and that spirit will guide you and help you make the right decisions - if you listen. It's like having your own little Jiminy Cricket on your shoulder, telling you to go to school and not smoke.
The adults in my life really played this day up. My parents, my primary teachers, my bishop. I had to be interviewed to see if I was ready and worthy to be baptized. I remember sitting in the bishop's office with my parents for this interview. The bishop, Bishop Bates (also our dentist), started asking me standard questions. "Your full name?", "Your birthdate?", "Sex?". I remember freezing at this question. Did he just say the word "sex" to me? I didn't know what to say or how to respond. I was eight. We didn't throw this word around in my house. My mom gently nudged me and said, "He wants to know if you are a boy or a girl." Good grief. Either way, I clearly passed the rest of the interview and was given the green light to be baptized.
I don't have any photos from my baptism. Unlike the trend these days, my parents did not capture the day with a dozen photos of me posing with my dad, who baptized me, or with the bishop or even with my family. I did not have a home-sewn white dress to wear. I cannot recall who was in attendance at my baptism. I have a vague memory of being worried that the water would be too cold. I remember being worried that I would not put my hands in the right place. And I remember being terrified of not going all the way under the water, in which case, we would have to do it again. This fear was well-founded. My older sister, Angela, has cerebral palsy and was baptized a couple of years before me. Her disability makes her quite possibly the least flexible person on the planet. She had to be dunked a few times because when they lowered her upper half into the water, her lower half shot up out of the water. If it weren't deemed so serious at the time, it might have been funny. Either way, I was afraid I would do something similar.
As it was, it was an uneventful day. I wore the over-sized white jumper that is customary for kids with parents that aren't familiar with the 'make your daughter a beautiful white dress to wear for her baptism day' tradition. My dad baptized me. This was a special event for him, as he would later repeatedly tell me. I was the first child he saw being born (my parents were in the military for the birth of my older siblings and at the time, my father was not allowed in the delivery room - until me) and now I was the first child he could baptize himself. My two older siblings were baptized on the same day as my parents by the missionaries that converted them, back in '78 or '79, because they were already over 8 years old. It made me happy to give my dad a special moment like that. This will be a common theme in the telling of my Mormon experience - pleasing my dad. Never in my life did I feel more genuine love than from the love of my dad. I wanted nothing more than to please him and make him proud. This was one of those moments.
After the baptism, I recall going home and a few of my parent's friends came over to bring me gifts. They congratulated me. They said they were proud of me. I didn't really feel any different. But I did feel this weight of responsibility settle onto my shoulders. Now my mistakes started counting against me. Now, when I messed up, I had to ask for forgiveness. Otherwise, it would be a strike against me in whatever record book God was keeping. If I got too many strikes, I would be in trouble. I wouldn't be 'worthy'. And maybe I would not be able to be with my family forever. Heavy thoughts for an eight year old girl, for sure.
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