1974.
In 1974 I had never heard of Jehovah's Witnesses or the Watchtower, and neither had anyone in my family. It was the last relatively peaceful year in our family. It was the last normal year of my life. In 1975, the world as I knew it, ended.
We were still a family, and no one in our family had been touched by divorce since WWII, when my mother was put in a concentration camp and her husband, believing her dead, married another. Sure, we had our problems, but we were there for each other. No one ever had to stand alone through times of trouble. Our family feasts were huge, especially at Christmas and Easter. All birthdays were celebrated. We went to church on Sunday mornings, followed by a huge Sunday dinner, picnics, day trips, visits with other family or friends.
In 1975 the JWs came to our door, and everything went to shit after that. Even though my mother and I were the only ones to join the cult, it caused a rift in the family, my mother's marriage was destroyed, I got married to a JW, and my marriage didn't survive my leaving the cult. Friendships that were forged in WWII Germany, where my father worked as a slave labourer, ended because these longtime friends were sick of getting preached at and ridiculed because of the holidays they celebrated and churches they attended. I lost all of my childhood friends because I had become a holier than thou cult boy.
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