I guess I did things backwards, going to high school 80 miles from my home, and going to college while living at home. But for me, it wasn’t backwards at all. Everyone from my church who was my age did the exact same thing. You left home after eighth grade and moved into a dorm on campus, but I wasn’t ready to go, for several reasons. Growing up as I did, with both my mother and father highly involved in the church, had its advantages and disadvantages, but I’ll start by telling you the options they had to choose from when deciding where my sister and I would go to high school.
First, there was the high school in our conference, Pine Forge Academy, that was made 
up almost exclusively of Black students. This would have been a natural fit because we went to an all-Black elementary school, and because the tuition was much cheaper if you went to school in conference. Of course, though, nothing was going to be that easy. My mother was more interested in making sure we went to a quality school, and to her the school of choice was Blue Mountain Academy. My father agreed, and even though they didn’t have nearly enough money for tuition, the school allowed us to go. It was in the Pennsylvania conference, which meant it was much more diverse than Pine Forge, and I think that was also part of the decision-making process.
The thing about Adventist academy is that it’s A) expensive, B) work-study, and C) live-in. So I would be moving away from home at age 13 and working at a job right away. Talk about being exposed to the adult world, and yet academy was also far removed from that world. The BMA campus is situated right outside of a small hamlet in middle Pennsylvania, and its grounds are almost like a whole other world (imagine Hogwarts from Harry Potter), 
so while we were exposed to the world, we were also shut off from it. We got home leaves (vacation times) once every two months, or if there was a holiday, and each of those home leaves was approximately four or five days in length. For the entire rest of the time, you lived, breathed, and worked on campus with 200 other students.
Work-study was a completely new enterprise for me, having lived a sheltered life until that point, and come to find out I wouldn’t be able to work anywhere on campus only being 13 years old. Instead, I would have to work off-campus on the farm. Wow, talk about an area I had absolutely no knowledge about and wanted to know nothing about! But off to the farm I went, with my brand new white sneakers. And I had to go there early in the morning too, as freshmen and juniors had early work detail and classes in the afternoon, while sophomores and seniors had the opposite schedule. And I had to go there with my brand new white sneakers and work in the manure. Needless to say, I cried myself to sleep that first night, and many nights to come. I used my phone time (the dorm had three pay phones in the lobby and a list for being able to use them. If you missed your time, you were screwed until the next day) to call my mom and beg for her to bring me back home. It was absolutely miserable for me, made even more so by my sister becoming instantly popular and pretending she didn’t know me (she tended to do that a lot, although she did let me sit at her table at lunch on occasion).
Just like Adventist elementary school, Adventist academy was heavy on religion and the Adventist message, which included the health message and Bible study. While I didn’t mind those things, I knew all of them inside and out, having a preacher as a father, so they were for the most part boring. Plus, since I went to school after having worked on the farm, and despite showering numerous times in-between, I still smelled heavily of horse 
manure, and no one wanted to sit near me in class. As if I needed any other excuse to cry myself to sleep, that one took the cake. It was hard enough for me to make friends, and I detested the farm so much, so to be identified with it and ostracized because of it, due to my smell, it was horrendous. I believe now that at the time I was definitely depressed, and it showed in every facet except for my grades. Unfortunately, my parents used my grades as an excuse to keep me there, despite my protestations and tear-stained pleadings.
Ironically, after a year and a half, when I had finally given up on getting to go home, I realized how amazing the experience really could be, if I gave it a chance. So I did, and I made several friends. I was even elected to student council office, and things were looking up. My sister also started to recognize me as her brother, which helped too. But then the hammer fell hard and swiftly. Right before my junior year of high school, indeed on the very day before the school semester was to begin, I received a phone call from my mother with devastating news. In spite of all the work-study hours I had accumulated, and the amount of tuition that covered, it wasn’t nearly enough. Apparently, my parents were extremely far behind in their payments and the school had been nice enough to let us stay there until that point, but no longer. We would have to leave. Just when I was starting to fit in, when I had found a place I belonged. Me, not the preacher’s son, but just me. Just when it was coming true, I would have to leave. I sat down and cried my eyes out until I could sob no more. That irony was not lost on me either. So, on the very first day of school for what was to be my junior year, instead of being in class with my newfound friends, I was in a car going 75 mph on the road back to Philly, in silence.
What I realize about Academy life now wasn’t that it was so harsh, or so strict. Sure, it was full of rules, but those were to keep us safe. What I realized was that the people you meet at Academy can be amazing if you get to know them, just like anyone else. I was glad I was able to befriend some people before I left BMA, but even more glad to realize that I made an impression on some people while I was there, and even after as well. Imagine my surprise when I got a Facebook account some 15 years later and some of the first people to friend request me were people from my Academy days. And that made me cry, but this time they were tears of joy, and forgiveness.
Sam
Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Taking the SATs on Sunday
Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Off to School
Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Suiting Up
Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Being a “Preacher’s Kid” [Freshly Pressed]
Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: A Different Kind of Brother
Growing Up Seventh-Day Adventist: Divisions
Sam's Online Journal 
I had to laugh at the white shoes.