Being a PK

I am a preacher's daughter...a PK would be another shortened term for the position. I know, I choose the word position like it's a job which isn't far from the truth. There were times growing up when I couldn't stand going to church, when I had to put the mask on of being polite and courteous and just generally happy to be there. Up until college the rule was skirts and dresses only. No slacks. Once I started going to college though that rule was thrown out the window. I didn't believe, and I still refuse to believe, that God sees it as a personal affront if my ankles/calves, whatever, are visible in church.

There was the personal and private side of my family as I alluded to above. The phone rang at odd hours in spite of having a parsonage line and a private line put in. I would be sent out with my siblings sometimes for groceries because dad didn't want to be recognized and have to hobnob in the frozen foods aisle. Can't say I blame him but dammit, neither did I. My prayer life, although strangely lax given my family, was healthy, at least I thought so. I have always felt in some way, shape, or form that I am being looked out for. I felt that was overridden though by the image a preacher's daughter was supposed to project. What was I supposed to know, what was I supposed to say? What should I have known or said? The spotlight, in a word, sucked. My siblings and I described this sensation of the spotlight in one phrase, something we took during the golden years of the L.A. Lakers reign on basketball...It's Showtime.

During my relatively short life, whenever people find out I'm a preacher's kid they get this look on their face, something to the effect of "Oh, that explains a lot." Or they might even say it aloud. I used to be surprised by the outburst but in some way, I take the remarks as a point of pride, war wounds of some sort. When I meet other PK's, we compare stories, share scars and ultimately walk away, almost as if the old rules of secrecy and confinement still apply even though we're adults now. We come together for a short moment and laugh and giggle at similar tales of church embarrassment, parishioner confrontations and then pull away like that short sharing of intimacy of similar backgrounds violated the old rules...private versus public, keep it in-house. It's nice while it lasts and reminds me that I'm not the only one, not crazy, and that I certainly don't have a monopoly on angst growing up as a PK.


"A preacher'’s daughter is supposed to wear dresses to service every Sunday, to be polite, warm, courteous, inviting, accommodating, non-intrusive, available, and in some ways, invisible. She should be calm, serene, with just the right amount of charm and wit to put others at ease in the midst of her own unease. She should be single, preferably; have good grades, a solid circle of friends; and no visible character defects. If she is of color then she must be doubly polite, warm, courteous, inviting, accommodating, non intrusive, available and invisible, according to the needs of whomever is directing her; dresses are imperative to her appearance as is a proper ladylike form and demeanor. "