Aged 7 years. I proudly tell my friends that my church has a kitchen and basketball hoops. Used to austere CofE churches, my friends think that my church sounds cool.
Aged 9 years. I give my first sacrament talk. The topic is Elijah and the priests of Baal. I greatly ham-up Elijah’s mockery of the Baalites. The congregation loves it. I never fear public speaking again.
Aged 12 years. At a party at a friend’s house, beer is served. I do not partake and feel very proud of myself. My friends say, “Respeck, man!”
Aged 15 years. I come to the conclusion that Mormon girls are prettier than those at school. I put this down to Word of Wisdom-enhanced Mormon genes. By their fruits shall ye know them. I like church.
Aged 16 years. I bear testimony at youth conference and cry.
Aged 16 1/2 years. I give a talk at Stake Conference. A visiting GA asks for a copy and it is published in the New Era.
Aged 17 years. A softball is thrown at me, begging to be hit out of the park. I decline to swing.
Aged 19 years. I make AP after 9 months in the mission field. Mission rules state classical or MoTab only; missionaries listen to Pearl Jam. I engineer a compromise: missionaries begin listening to Enya.
Aged 21 years. I meet Rebecca at a CES fireside. We marry 10 months later and have our first child 10 months after that. The system works.
Aged 22 years. Rampant Nibleyism leads to the study of antiquarian things at university. I get funding from FARMS and am the envy of Mormon Nibley-ites all over the UK.
Aged 30 years. I help organise EMSA with a couple of other European mates. Within a year we hold a conference. Proper scholars show up.
Aged 32 years. By dint of second-rate blogging at the BCC, I get to know many of the Great and Good in Mormon Studies. One day they’ll find me out. For now, I am happy.