A very cool thing my parents did for me when I was growing up was let me go to church. We didn’t practice anything in particular but I had a friend in junior high who was lutheran so I decided to invite myself into her lime green station wagon and check out services. I think I lasted a few weeks until I felt, yeah, no, this really isn’t working for me and stopped going. The priest actually came to my house one evening to check in on me and I kept saying “I’m fine!” as I shut the door on his face. I think I was mostly just mortified that he showed up and I didn’t want to mix him up, my weird exploration, with my parents. But you know why I love my parents for this? They never forbade or expressed any weird feeling. They basically shrugged and did the 1980s version of “you do you.” I am grateful for that freedom. Some might have felt more threatened.