The first example of a witch that I ever saw was on The Wizard of Oz. Green skin, big nose, warts, you name it. Like almost every child who sees this stereotypical portrayal of a witch, I was scared. I kept checking under my bed, in my closet and behind me on the road when I was riding my bike for some green-skinned pointy hat wearing woman to be there. Then one day I was talking to my grandmother about our family history. She had said that there had been a few witches in our lineage, some black witches, and some white witches. Of course, this immediately got my heart pumping, because they would certainly be chasing after me since I knew. She then explained to me why they were considered witches in their time. They were the village healer' of sorts, making herbal concoctions for those who were ill, and being the go to' person for their advice. She then told me that this would make me a hereditary witch.
This caused a spark of interest in my mind, however since I was of such a young age, the spark faded quickly. When I was in high school the subject was brought up again. I was Editor-In-Chief of the high school newspaper, and we were doing an article on cults and the ways they lure people into their groups. A fellow student brought up that there was a coven of witches outside of the town our high school resided. She proceeded to bash their beliefs, not knowing a single thing about any individual in the group. This offended me greatly. In the end after many intense arguments, the article was scrapped. It was deemed too controversial for the likes of our high school newspaper. However, the spark of interest in me was once rekindled.
The first book I ever read on witchcraft was by a man who had died one year prior, Scott Cunningham. The title of the book was Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. The book first made me feel a little uncomfortable; growing up in a Christian community, I was taught that witchcraft was wrong, and that it was satanic.