The first column I wrote for Patheos, "After Ice Cream," was about my father hiding our family's paganism from me—letting me think we were Christians so that I wouldn't tell the rest of our family the truth. I've always wondered about that decision. At times, I've thought of it as silly or unnecessary. Why couldn't he have just told the truth? What was the real danger there?
The West Memphis Three put a very different face on my parents' decision. Because the jury didn't know what an actual esbat was - because the trappings of my religion could be dressed up as something vicious and angry - Damien Echols was sentenced to death. This didn't happen sometime in the distant past; this happened when I was six years old.
What's really burned into my mind is this: if you walk into my parents' house, you will find shelves full of books on the occult, hundreds of them. You will find a cabinet with ritual implements, including athames and a sword. You will, in short, find far more "trappings of the occult" than the prosecution ever introduced against the West Memphis Three.
I'm saying that this was the first time I realized it could have been us.
Suddenly a lot of things about my childhood make a lot more sense.