I look back with fond memories to my childhood and growing up in the Church. I remember every Sunday night we would make the trek back to the church building (it was just across the parking lot from the parsonage), and we would assemble in the sanctuary to sing some of our favorite hymns. The preacher (he was my dad) would give a message of some sort. I recall no details of this particular portion of the service. Strange. And we would receive communion. Every time. I grew up independent Christian, and part of our tradition was to receive communion every time we met. Literally. I remember when children's church first became part of what happened at church on Sunday mornings. The main area of our church basement was converted into this massive Sesame Street-like getup, complete with puppets and human actors. I remember going to Sunday School and learning the books of the Bible. Those were the good old days. Unless you were my parents. They remember the good old days as being ...