Why I Do Not Like Altar Calls

So, I was going to write about sex, and how I want to have some, but then I got back home to Texas and interacted with my family, and now I'm feeling vastly cynical and bitter about anything marriage or family related, and am thinking that perhaps we should all go live in caves and no longer procreate or touch each other.
So you'll have to wait for the juicy stuff till some other day.
Instead, I'm going to tell you a little story:

When I was a senior in high school at Horrendous Christian High School (HCHS), we had a 'revival' in January. Oh yes, kids. The full-on, old-fashioned, Baptist kind. (My appologies, Baptists.) For a whole week, we would gather everyday in Cool & Trendy Youth Room for the Horrendous Christian Church that Horrendous Christian High School was attached to. And there was Cal Mason.* He had bleached hair with a cross shaved in the back of his head and proudly called himself a JesusFreak, or some other cutesy name. I remember we were all extremely skeptical, because after four years at HCHS, we were tougher and more deeply bitter than any African Native. We thought nothing could touch us, that we'd heard it all.
Unfortunately, we underestimated the powers of mass hysteria.
Now, you must understand, not everyone at HCHS came from a Good Church Background like mine. But, honestly, I think some of the people with a Good Church Background we're even worse off than those without it, because they were so callous to the Gospel, they could not hear a Thing. But, oh, honey, they knew what to say. They could convince anyone, Anyone, even Dr. Old himself (head of Horrendous Christian Church) that they were the most spiritual, most godly, most squeaky clean teenagers in the world. Oh, they could fool anyone. Except of course their classmates. Thus, as we all filed into the Cool & Trendy Youth Room, we were already pulling out our Worship Hands and Worhship Faces and duely wrapping our hearts in duct tape.
Now, admittedly, I don't remember much about what Cal Mason* said. He went on and on and yelled and screamed appropriately, just like a revival preacher is supposed to. I think he talked about Moses, once. But, oh, I remember the Invitation, the altar call, whatever you want to call it. He had us all put our heads down, in typical Baptist fashion, with eyes closed so that only the preacher could see what was about to happen. We were all supposed to 'do business with God,' making sure our souls were properly stored in the Heaven box.
"Now, how many of you believe you're saved today, I want you to put your hands in the air."
Silence.
"Yes, I see a lot of hands out there. Now, are you sure you're saved? Are you sure you're sure??"
Silence.
"Now, of course, if you're Really saved, I want you to keep you're hand in the air, but I want you to think about this. If Jesus came today, are you 100% sure you'd go to Heaven with Him? Are you truly sure? Are you sure you wouldn't go to Hell? Because if you're not sure, you know the consequences of that. I want you to think about that now, to think about if you're really sure, and if you're not, I want you to put your hand down and pray this prayer with me ..."
For a self-doubting, OCD kid like me, this was torture. I would raise my hand tentatively at first, hoping I really was saved, hoping that all the millions of times I had prayed the sinner's prayer, it had 'counted.' But by the time he got to his third entreaty, I was gone. I was too scared, too horrified to think of my own damnation. I couldn't keep my hand up, because I just couldn't be saved.
I'm not sure how many other kids went through the same agonizing process as I did, but I do know this: almost all the kids, even the meanest and most calloused of all, were scared to Death. Yes, indeed, the Fear of God had been forced into them, and they dutifully went down to the altar calls, and even gave up drinking for a couple of weeks. And, for a couple of weeks, or even longer, I was ecstatic about the Revival and Cal Mason*. After all, if you could scare Ben Wallis into not using dip, you were on to something.
The funny thing about fear as a motivator tho, is that it doesn't last forever. You get used to the fear, you grow accustomed, and then you're not so scared of it anymore. And pretty soon, it stops having so strong a hold over you. So you start drinking, and smoking, and screwing around again, because, after all, the idiot with the cross shaved into the back of his head is gone.
The funniest and most tragic thing of all, of course, is that Christianity isn't about fear. It's about Love. A Love that casts out fear. And when you force a mask of terror over God's face, I don't really see how you can expect people to follow Him, or want anything to do with Him at all. I am slowly learning, the hard way, to remove that mask, and see God as He truly is.
And that is why I do not like Invitations or Revivals.

*Name has been changed to protect the Guilty.