When I was twelve, I was "saved" by a guy named Kendrick. He had to have been about forty, but he hung out and played tennis with teens all the time. I dunno.
Anyway, I went with my friend to his church because there was volleyball and I was a godless heathen and didn't care. At this point, I'd like to mention that I will never let my kid's friends take him or her to their church for any reason whatsoever. Nothing good ever came of it and you just left feeling hella awkward.
So I went with my friend because I mainly just wanted to hang out. I showed some other guys how to do hypnosis, but they left and I got left alone when my friend played volleyball. This cat Kendrick comes up and sits next to me. Not too close for me to be uncomfortable, though. That was coming up. He asks me if something was wrong. When I'm not doing something, I look sullen because that's just the way I am. I tell him that I'm just bored. He asks me why I didn't play volleyball. So I told him I thought it was boring. This elicited an "Ahhhhh, okay" from him.
After a few minutes of incredibly uncomfortable silence, he asks me if I got saved. I asked him, "From what?" He gave the typical adult chuckle of amusement at how dumb a kid is and asked if I had accepted Jesus.
Still not knowing what that meant, I reverted to the strategy I still use today; pretend like you know something and give short ambiguous answers. I told him that I hadn't yet. He asked me if I wanted him to help, or something like that. It doesn't matter how it came to be; the fact was that thirty seconds later, he was speaking mumbo-jumbo and rubbing my chest.
After a bit of that incredibly awkward shit, he told me to let out the word of God, to let Him speak through me.
I told him, "No thanks; I'll do it later."
He said alright, smiled, then tussled my fucking hair before returning to play volleyball.
Years later I learned that he was a complete homo. I shoulda known; pastel shorts kinda went out of style on middle-aged men.