The Miseducation of Cameron Post

by Emily M. Danforth

How, if my parents were dead, could there still be some part of me that felt relief at not being found out?

But all those times, no matter what the occasion, it had eventually ended up feeling sort of phony, like I was playing at a relationship with God, just like any little kid playing house or grocery store or anything else, but not like it was real. I knew that this is where the faith part was supposed to come in, and that faith, real faith, that’s what was supposed to keep the whole thing from just being make-believe. But I didn’t have any of that faith, and I didn’t know where to get it, how to get it, or even if I wanted it right then.

(when a man lies with a man, this is an abomination),

“Man with a man” can be expressly understood to mean any and all forms of same-sex attraction and same-sex acts.

Really? Well, if homosexuality is just like the sin of murder, then who dies, exactly, when homosexuals get together to sin?

I got that churned-up-stomach feeling you get when you wonder, upon recognizing one stupid decision you’ve made about something important, if it’s possibly only the first of many, many stupid decisions you’ve made about this important thing, and maybe is just the first clue that the whole thing will crack apart under the weight of all of those stupid decisions once they’ve piled up.