Confessions of a Preacher’s Daughter

My papa is a preacher man.  So I grew up with the dreaded tag of  ‘P.K.’

“Oh…a PREACHER’S kid.  So are you as bad as they say you are?”

Probably.  My hardcore rebellion consisted of sitting in the back two pews and drawing all over the church bulletins.  Or drinking all the Welch’s Grape Juice in front of the deacon’s kid…who believed it to be the actual blood of Christ.  I stayed away from the wafers though.  If I were to eat an actual human body…I imagine it would taste a lot like a communion wafer.

I also have a nameless condition that causes me to laugh at inappropriate times.  I’m not talking “giggle giggle’.  I’m talking pee in your pants, can’t breath, bending over and crying…THAT kind of laughing.  Church was a common place this occurred.  It’s also happened at funerals, divorce court, parent teacher conferences, moments of silence and voting booths.

My Dad was one of those preacher’s who would stop in mid-rant, put down his Bible, take off his glasses and boom from the pulpit…

“April Lynn!  We are in the house of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ and it would behoove you to knock off your mess and pay attention and maybe say a prayer while you’re at it.”

The first couple of times were embarrassing.  After that, he just sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.  My mom taught Children’s Church down in the basement and pretty much kicked me out after I got all the kids to sing “Father Abraham” over and over.  My mom hated that song.  HATED it.

Prior to being expelled,  I made the mistake of mouthing off to Mom while she was in the throws of PMS.  Right there in front of God and small children, she lost her mind all over the floor.

“THAT’S IT!  I’VE HAD IT.  I’M TAKING YOU RIGHT NOW AND I’M DRAGGIN YOU RIGHT UP THERE ON STAGE WITH YOUR DADDY AND MAKE YOU SIT THERE BY THE PULPIT AND THEN AFTER THE SERMON, I’M GONNA MAKE EVERYONE COME UP AND ANOINT YOUR REAR-END WITH HOLY OIL AND RID ME OF THE SHAME OF EWE!”

Yes.  She hollered all that.  It pretty much looked like she was dragging me to my execution.  I knew there was only one thing for me to do.  Once we got into the foyer, I’d kick her in the shins and run out the front door, screaming, “I HATE YOU!”  Much shame would be accrued.

And that’s exactly what I did.  Then I hid in the big bushes behind the church sign until everyone had gone home.  These bushes were like my own little clubhouse.  I threw my celery in there after I’d eaten all the peanut butter.  I had a candy stash and stolen G.I. Joes all piled up…lipgloss and clear nail polish.  Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden books…spiral notebooks and a bucket of ink pens.

I didn’t have to worry about anyone else invading my space.  It was surrounded with poison ivy…and all the other kids just assumed you had to be mentally challenged to even go NEAR the bushes…much less dwell within them.  But I didn’t care.  I was a renegade.  A renegade in need of prayer.

My list of sins was liken to Earl’s karma list.  Only I never went back and made things right.  I started a list once when I was kid.  Not because I was proud…but mostly because I wanted to make sure St. Peter had his facts straight before he banished me to the heated basement.

Who knows whatever happened to that list.  I guess I’ll just have to take St. Peter’s word for it.  But for now….

The few that I remember:

*  Eating all the snacks out of the church nursery then blaming it on the janitor’s cross-eyed kid.

*  Flicking Mr. Melvin’s ears .

*  Stealing Ms. Bernie’s candy after piano lessons out of sheer spite.

*  Secretly wishing death upon the pet rabbit, Wrinkles.

*  Walking across the playground singing, “I don’t stop for nobody” and knocking down small children.

*  Making up bogus prayer requests.

*  Making up songs when playing the offertory piano solo.

*  Being mean to Billy Hawbecker and forcing him to repair my Snoopy bag or face the school principal.

*  For stealing someone’s hot lunch every day at school.

*  For not telling the teacher when Christy Spurlow pulled a knife out on me in music class.

*  For stealing tokens from the less-than-smart kid at Chuck E. Cheese.

*  For peeing in the Kirby’s pool and blaming it on my brother.

*  For cutting off all my hair over a three month period and wadding the hair up in notebook paper and shoving it under my bed.

*  I also ask forgiveness for lying and saying all that hair was from shaving my legs.

*  For not telling on Grandpa when he spiked the punch with grain liquor at my graduation party.

*  For throwing glass bottles out of my dorm window and lying about it.

*  For never cleaning the bathrooms in my dorm…even though I was on housekeeping duty.

*  For telling people they had overdue fines and couldn’t use their card until the fines were paid…knowing they had a term paper due the very next day.

etc., etc., etc…..

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2 Responses

  1. I find this post especially hilarious because I too am a PK.
    I about died when you said your father also called you out from behind the podium also…
    I would like to say I was a good kid… but I also can say I got away with a lot of stuff lmao

    GREAT stuff!

    #142 Stealing the raw cookie dough from the fridge and hiding it in my VHS tape holders and lying to mom upon questioning.

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