Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: confession, criticism, kids, pastor's kid
You give my dad a headache, I’ll make your kid cry.
I know, it isn’t very Christ-like, but neither is pestering your pastor. When my dad pastored a church near St. Louis, there was this one family that FOREVER bothered my dad about one thing or another. I mean, they told my dad that I shouldn’t be able to wear shorts (that were almost knee-length) because it was immodest. My dad told them that I was 5 years old, and he was pretty sure my calf was not immodest. But they were constantly harping on weird little things. They caused arguments and problems in the church more times than I can count. They criticized my father any chance they got. I know you don’t think little kids notice, but I guarantee that your pastor’s kid knows exactly what people support their dad and what people don’t.
Well, their youngest son was in my kindergarten class. I MAY have beat him up at recess on a regular basis.
Hey, you don’t mess with my dad.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: church, confession, kids, preacher's kid
Growing up as a pastor’s daughter was fantastic in so many ways, but then there were those other things about it. See, there are some ideas people have about PKs (as those in the secret society call ourselves). I am going to explain a few of these over the next few days. Some of these are funny (at least to me!); some of these are as serious as two old ladies bringing the same dish to a church dinner. So without further delay:
I was not created solely to be an example of godly living for your bird-brain kid.
First things first, just because my father was called to be a pastor does not mean that I am some weird spiritual prodigy. I was a normal kid. I didn’t even like some of your weird kids that I had to be nice to every week. I was not a very sweet child; so, my poor mother was constantly being berated with the fact that I was mean to some kid. She had to listen to this bizarre idea that I was somehow NOT the same as every other kid many times. She would glare at me across the room as she calmed some mom down and told her that I would be “dealt with” immediately. Then, she would hang up the phone and have a conversation that sounded something like this:
“Hope, why is it so hard for you to just be sweet to other kids?”
“Mom, they’re stupid! They keep asking the teacher dumb questions. Why can’t…”
Then she would shake her head and walk out of the room.
My dad, however, would look people in the face and tell them that he was the pastor, not his 5 year old. I LOVED getting to see this side of my dad. He had my back. And he taught me very early on that I was not defined by what he did. He never allowed people to treat me differently. Now, he would tell me to be nice and teach me all those lessons that parents should, but he refused to have me held to some special standard.
Even now when I deal with kids at church, I remember this. I don’t expect any kids from “those families” to be anything but their age. By the way, I also know that any crazy scheme that the pastor’s kid gets caught in the middle of doing, the deacon’s kid is TOTALLY behind it.
