Whose Truth?

We open on a rural but prosperous church in south central Indiana. A young boy is sitting in a pew flanked by his older brother on his left and his mother on his right. He fidgets. Let me take that back, it isn't a pew. Pews are too "old-fashioned" for this straightforward, progressive church. The truly zealous fill their sanctuary with orange plastic chairs and bolt them to the floor. Marooned in his shiny, pious, …

…on his place in this world. No longer was the boy subject to an unending tennis ball sensation, bouncing back and forth between each parent. The boy saw that he had no one else's standards or morals to live up to except for his own. No longer interested in chasing after both his parents equally unattainable approvals, the man closed his notebook and went about his day with his eyes open for the first time.