Somebody Call the Preacher…
I have lived two lives; the one I was actually there for and the other an interpretation of that life from all the church members on the other end of my daddy’s phone. Being the preacher’s daughter is something akin to being a small town celebrity, but not the fun kind. No, you do not get to be a Jacquelyn Onasis Kennedy where people fawn over the subtle and fashionable ways you break the rules a little. No, you get to be a Kardashian. You can be waiting in line at Starbucks in your sweatpants and T-Shirt just trying to get a cup of coffee and for some reason you just have a hint of scandal about you.
Somebody call the preacher.
There’s something that happens when you grow up under the eyes of scrutiny of hundreds of people, a kind of hardness, indifference, a permanent belief in the impermanence of some people. So much of the woman I am is shaped by this fact. It’s why pastor’s families have a notoriously close and small group of friends. We see the behind the scenes of people’s lives with a sacred vow of silence that people cannot wait to break into. It’s like reality TV except you live there...and there are no commercial breaks. Speaking of, did you see that dress and those heels the preacher’s daughter wore to church? Totally inappropriate. No, no, the parties happening in my basement are totally mundane. Very boring I am sure. Besides, I don’t have time to worry about that-how can I when she wears stilettos like that?
Somebody call the preacher.
And heaven help the poor boy dumb enough to want to hitch himself to the preacher’s daughter. After some truly excellent amateur sleuthing on social media, there is now almost an ordained committee for the endeavor, it has been determined that this boy is absolutely no good. He isn’t “strong enough in the faith” (absolutely something you can tell off facebook), he has too many vices, nevermind that he is only eighteen. Oh, or my favorite, “Megan needs a strong man.”
Oh my son? Well he is only twenty you know and boys will be boys. My daughter’s new boyfriend? Well you know how it is to be so young and in love, I am sure they will figure it out. But that boy the preacher’s daughter is with, he may not be a Christian...or worse! He may be a democrat.
Oh Lord, somebody call the preacher.
But, did you see the preacher’s daughter in that picture on facebook. She is at the beach with a boy! Yep, saw it right there on facebook. She is only twenty three, can you believe the indecency?
Somebody call the preacher...and maybe the music pastor too…
I kid you not, one time I was at the local Mexican restaurant and someone sent a picture of me to my dad asking if he knew I was there. I was twenty two and home from college for Christmas. The preacher’s daughter sitting around eating tacos?!
Forget the preacher somebody call the national guard.
Being a preacher’s family is a vast and lonely experience sometimes. The only experience I imagine may be similar is to be the daughter of a controversial politician. Your family becomes a standard of morality-whether you like it or not.
I’m not saying I was perfect. Afterall-I was a teenager and am a pretty fiery young woman. Backing down is not in my DNA and if you are going to try to convince me I am wrong you better have charts and graphs to prove it. Humility is a fleeting charm of mine and I can have a sharp tongue. My tolerance for gossip, pride, and busybodies is painfully low. But, it wasn’t all bad.
I learned to never judge a person by how they act at their lowest. I learned whatever you see on facebook is rarely the real story. I learned when you meet a genuine person you better hold on to them because they are few and far between. I know if someone tells you that “they are all saying” but won’t tell you who “they” are, you should run for the hills (after you ask them why “they” felt so comfortable telling them in the first place). I learned my momma is always right and love covers a multitude of sins. And I think I love my husband even more for what it takes for him to be mine.
Even in the most complicated of our identities there is good to be found and grace to be had.
Now, if you excuse me, I am going to go put on my favorite bikini (you know the one that shows off all my tattoos), put something suspicious in a red solo cup and head to the beach with my husband. Later I may post something on facebook you probably won’t agree with and then I think I’ll go call the preacher.