|Unless you are born as royalty, an heir, or the adopted child of Angelina Jolie, people most likely do not have preconcieved notions of how you should behave. There is one exception, however. Being the preacher's kid. Thousands of children must endure this form of perks and tortures, myself included. Yet in special cases, like my own, there is the quadruple threat: a mother, step-father, grandfather, and father all of whom are or were pastors. That is where the fun really begins.
Somehow, if you live in a small enough town, everyone knows you're the preacher's daughter. Teachers crack jokes, students automatically assume you never do anything wrong, and you get blatent stares and gasps when you do something out of the perfect Christian mold. We had a subistute teacher around Halloween this year who told me I should dress up as Moses for trick or treating. I, unlike the rest of the class, was not amused. Of course, you smile when such jokes are made, no matter how many times you have heard them or have been forced to answer all questions relating to religion in any way, in any class. There was a problem I had in geometry this year that my teacher called on me for because the polygon was in the shape of a cross. Being stereotyped as God's perfect child follows you everywhere. Let's not forget the torture endured during church as well. I am constantly being placed in sermons and children's time as a funny anecdote. Embarassing stories need not be reserved for family friends. The whole congregation should be in on it, too. It is incidents like these that have me as cynical as most adults at age 15.
Of course, there are perks to this job. Roaming around forbidden areas of the church like the offices and doors behind the sanctuary are great if you want to impress younger children. It is a guarentee that all overly-perfumed women over the age of fifty will love you. You can get away with much more than other children, eating leftover communion bread and telling dirty jokes to the old men. When my now deceased father had his last church in 2001, he would often discourage me from going up for children's time because I answered all the questions I had been fed since age two much too quickly. At the age of ten, I was a biblical scholar.
Despite having dinner talk revolve around PPR committee meetings and paying aportiments on time, I do not regret being a PK my entire life. Although some people wouldn't like living up to the rep, I can embrace it and really shock others when I don't. I have no intention of becoming a pastor myself, but I know it will follow me wherever I go. I imagine when I am an old, perfume-wearing woman, I will look at the preacher's children and smile, because I know they are milking it for all it is worth.