For the first 18 years of my life, I was a perfect Mormon. I was president of my church youth classes; I always wore shirts with modest necklines; I never cursed out loud (and only typed “Damn it” into my TI-83 calculator when I was very, very upset). I believed.
Then, in 2004, San Francisco allowed same-sex marriage for a brief period. Mormonism required me to think that decision was immoral and destined to drag the West Coast into iniquity.
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