The Nabob spins a tale of arranged weddings, tumultuous religious instruction, and a little blacksmithing. You should go read it.

But I mention this because I, too, had problems with Sunday School. I think my mistake was assuming that my newlywed teachers were somehow being forced to be there, the same way I was. Not so. Turns out they were just really really earnest.

So we ended up having occasional personality conflicts. One that springs to mind started with a particularly weird exercise they had us perform involving a piece of sandpaper and a cube of balsa wood. "Sand it into a sphere!" they said. The unstated goal was to make everyone end up with a shitty, asymmetric orb-thing. This was somehow supposed to make a point about human fallibility.

But, unfortunately for them, I am an awesome sander, and I ended up with a balsa ball that, as near as anyone in the class's imperfect human eyes could tell, was a perfect sphere.

Then I ran around the classroom telling everyone that my wooden ball was Jesus. That didn't go over too well.

The teachers eventually cornered my parents in the parking lot and, from what I managed to overhear, complained about my distinct lack of piousness. To their eternal credit, my parents never said a word about it to me.