The Time I was a PK.

PK's know other PK's.  We are a select subset of the population.  We are preacher's kids.

For much of one's life it doesn't matter, but it sure does matter when you are ages 12 - 18.  These are prime formative years.  These are the years identity expectations are placed upon your shoulders. These are the years being a PK can really suck.

So you move to a new town of 1600 people in Podunk, Iowa and you're a PK.  What does this mean? It means that the expectations of this Christian community are placed on your (and your sister's) shoulders.  You've not made friends yet.  Who will become your friends?  Why, the church youth group kids, of course!  What will you do with your time?  Why attend youth group events, of course?  What will you do on Sundays?  Why attend church, of course, and pray that you aren't the last one out of the church door - AGAIN.  Who will teach your confirmation class about sex?  Why, your father, of course.  What will the students at school assume about you?  That you are perfectly behaved.  And how WILL you behave?  Perfectly. Of course.

This is not always the case for PKs.  Everyone has heard of the tales of the "bad seeds" who are preachers kids, something straight out of Footloose.  But for me, being bad was not in my nature; being good was.  I WANTED to do well in school.  I WANTED to participate in youth group and even lead it.  I WANTED to make moral choices for myself.

Even so, such desires and expectations are tall orders in these growing up years.  In some ways they steer your identity in a way that might not have developed without them.

Do I have regrets?  Not too many.  I regret being the only one NOT invited to the high school senior drinking party.  I regret not taking more risks typical of that age.  I regret stifling my voice at times for the sake of my father's reputation or because of expectations I believed he had of me.  But I don't regret the life I lead now, which essentially grew from that identity and those very same expectations.

Where I attended college, being a PK was actually cool.  Practically 50% of my classmates were PK's, or as we called ourselves then - T.O.'s (Theological Offspring).  Two of my college boyfriends were T.O.'s.  Two of my three freshmen roommates were T.O.'s.  In a way, this new environment was freeing for all of us; we understood one another.  We came to understand that we were, in fact, normal.  We were freed to become who we really were and wanted to be.

Nowadays no one asks or cares if I am a PK, but if we somehow discover another PK during some winding, philosophical chat, a spark of true recognition results.  We suddenly KNOW each other on a new and deeper level, one that can be simply summed up with a nod and a "Yup."