I Used to be a Badass

When I was ten years old, I was a real badass.

That was the year I decided that I was going to hell and I was OK with it.

Perhaps I should back up.

My parents belonged to a Pentecostal church; the Old Testament was the only part of the Bible that was relevant. Fire, brimstone, and Satan himself were regular parts of the sermons - all day Sunday plus Wednesday nights.

They also believed in speaking in tongues and faith healing.

All of this can be pretty frightening to a child, especially when there is little to no explanation or reassurance about what’s going on.

I thought that I was expected to be perfect in order to get into Heaven. The best little girl ever, all of the time.

I had anxiety, even as a child. But I was smart enough to realize that trying to be perfect all the time was causing me to worry too much.

I knew that I couldn’t go on living that way, so one Sunday, as I was putting my church clothes away, I decided that I was going to hell and I could accept that. I didn’t tell my mom and dad because I didn’t want them to worry.

Not long after this, a bully moved in next door to my friends.

I went over one day to play and found my friend, her sister, and the girl across the street lined up against the side of a car. There was an older boy standing in front of them, and the girls looked worried.

When I approached, he ordered me to join them.

Somewhere from the depths of my ten year old brain came wisdom: if I did what he said, he would always have control over me.

Ha!

He doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. He’s got nothing on a girl who’s going to hell!

I told him no, and he threatened to hit me.

I debated for a second. The pain of him hitting me would last for less than a minute. It was worth it not to be bossed around.

I said go ahead. (Told you I was a badass.)

Of course he didn’t, and my friends soon realized he had no power over them either. We took off to play.

I have no idea whatever happened to him.

I’ve had a few moments since then.

I’ve called the authorities on child and animal neglect. Sadly, the animals were rescued long before the children were.

I’ve stood up to more bullies - adult ones this time. And once, I stole a dog because she was being abused. She lived 21 wonderful years with us, and every kid in our elementary school knew her name.

Now that I’m a grandma, I can still be a badass if I need to be.

I’m just not allowed to say the word anymore.