I was baptized at the now defunct Advent Christian Church in Hyattsville, MD. I was only 9 or 10 years old at the time but I remember well sitting down in my Dad’s office (he was the pastor) to question me if I had sufficient personal understanding of the Gospel and to instruct me on the meaning and symbolism of baptism. I had just made a decision for Christ recently, and despite my stage fright I was determined to obey Jesus’ command to be baptized. I remember that the baptismal was a large metal tank above and behind the pulpit. It was a mysterious space to me because when me and my siblings would play hide and seek in the empty church we were forbidden from going into the baptismal. It was accessed by two little changing rooms, one on either side. The metal walls of the tank had been painted, but the paint had begun to flake off so that when I did eventually enter the water I would stir up loads of paint flecks to swirl around me and cling to my wet skin. In previous generations, the church had been more prosperous, but by the time I got baptized it was in decline and it had been very a long time since the baptismal had seen any use. I remember that when my Dad turned the old valve to fill the baptismal the water ran as red as tomato soup.