I thoroughly enjoyed Agnes Norfleet’s article about being a preacher’s kid. As a proud PK as well as a PGK (preacher’s grandkid) twice over, I consider myself somewhat an authority on this particular subject. I would therefore like to share some things with your readers that we PKs know that others might not.
When the phone rings late at night, chances are good that it is not somebody inviting you over for a party. Even when the family car is loaded and everybody is buckled in, if the phone rings, the vacation is off.
Most people go to football games for their college reunions. Preachers go to Sprunt Lectures. Not everybody belongs to a “movable feast” but they all do seem to have a pretty rowdy group of seminary buddies who like to get together to tell stories about the good old days.
People will assume that just because your father is good at praying, you must be too. Have at least three blessings that you can recite from memory at any given time. Along those lines, ministers really appreciate it when someone else volunteers to say the blessing on occasion.
People who cuss in front of you and then apologize aren’t really sorry.
Earning a dollar for every Psalm memorized seems like a pretty good deal until you get to number 119.
Most parents have favorite rock bands; ours have favorite hymns.
Your friends aren’t terribly impressed that you managed to memorize a little pink book.
Saturday evenings aren’t for parties; they’re for finalizing sermons.
It doesn’t matter where in the country you wake up on Sunday morning. If there’s a Presbyterian church within a three-hour drive, you’ll be there.
Even seminary students sneak a look at Playboy every now and then.
Third-hand cars aren’t used, they’re “previously enjoyed.”
There are some real advantages to choosing a day off when everybody else in the country is actually working or in school.
When emergencies arise the best person to call is always the church secretary.
When it is your mother’s turn to host the Circle – find somewhere else to be!
It is perfectly normal to perform a funeral Saturday morning, a wedding Saturday evening, and then come back after the reception to vacuum the sanctuary before the service on Sunday morning.
Nothing on earth tastes as good as deviled eggs. That would explain why there are never any left for those of us forced to wait for the end of the line at every covered dish luncheon.
One final note: my favorite story from growing up a PK was the time my father went to call on a family that had been visiting the church for several months. He rang the doorbell and the 4-year-old son opened the door and stared at my father with wide eyes. “Are your parents here?” Dad asked. The little boy turned around slowly and yelled, “Mom – God’s here.”
I’ve always thought that child was much closer to the truth than he could ever have known.
Matt McCutchen is the son of a Presbyterian minister, Joseph McCutchen; the grandson of a Presbyterian minister, Chalmers McCutchen; and the grandson of a Baptist minister, W.W. Finlator. He says, however, he has managed to resist, avoid, or ignore the call, and is currently a Ph.D. student in music education at Florida State University in Tallahassee.
