I officially became a Mormon in 1961, when the Old Man raised his hand, said some words and shoved me under water in a Zaragoza, Spain, swimming pool.
What I was before that moment — probationary, reserve, in training — I don’t know. It never really came up until a friend got dunked a few months later.
While listening to Leon get confirmed an actual, genuine member of the church, it raised an important gospel question: If we were just now becoming Mormons, what were we before?
For better or worse, I’m a Mormon. I’ve been all kinds of Mormon — a bad Mormon, an indifferent Mormon, an inactive Mormon, a hostile Mormon and a blindly faithful Mormon.