It was a lesson I learned in sixth grade—that little old ladies have their favorite spots in the church pews and that I’d better not dare to sit there on Sunday mornings. My family was new to town, and I’d made a friend who invited me to church. My parents didn’t go to church, and his parents went every Sunday. I don’t remember where we sat or whether we sat with his parents. But I do remember that he steered me past a wiry grandmother with shiny gray hair, sprayed into place, who glared when I paused at her pew.