…You are constantly approached by random people who claim they haven’t seen you since you were “this big”. And in my head I’m just like “I haven’t seen you since…never…who the heck are you?!”
…People in the congregation always turn and smile at you looking for some reaction when your dad makes a lame joke. And somehow I always ended up by the old lady to would nudge me with her elbow every time that occurred. I get it lady, you think my dad’s funny. He’s not, though. His jokes get old when he has to test them out and practice them in front of you on the daily.
…You snacked on communion bread…and the grape juice. And just about any other type of food you can find in cabinets and drawers. I mean, screw it! You might as well go down to the kitchen and coax the chef into making you something fancy!
…Your excuse to hang out with friends who you know your dad wouldn’t want you to be with, is “But I’ll use this opportunity to evangelize to them, dad!” More times than not you probably got wasted with said friend instead.
…You talk like a normal person, but when asked to pray you turn into some 17th century English poet or you just sound like a timid and stuttering little kid. “and lord, um, yes, we dedica–dedicate, um uh…amen?”
…You’re extremely fluent in the language of “Christianese” such as “You’re blessed with the gift of singleness.”, “Oh yeah, we sure do live in the bible belt of the midwest!”, and my personal favorite: “I don’t sing a praise song unless there are 10 Jesus-per-minutes included.”
…You can list, off the top of your head, the 10 commandments, the 12 tribes of Israel, and the 10 plagues in less than 2 minutes. Although don’t ask me to do it now, I’m a little rusty on my bible knowledge; at the moment my bible may or may not have a good half an inch of dust piled on top of it. My dad just assumes it’s my PK rebellious stage. Can’t complain though when he makes up the excuse for me!
…You were the Picasso of drawing on Sunday bulletins with those mini golf pencils in the pews.
…You heard the words “damn” and “hell” in their literal meaning more than as a swear word.
…You got asked weekly, “So are you going to be in ministry or be a pastor like your dad?” Um, no old granny standing a little too close to me in the pew. I do not plan on being a pastor like my dad. After you’ve been forced to attend every Sunday for all of your childhood, deciding to work there is like Pharaoh asking Moses, “Hey bro, listen…I know you really want me to let your people go, but I don’t know. I mean, couldn’t I keep them just a little longer? I mean they haven’t finished building my empire yet. And Moses, like dude, it’ll be so lit, I promise! I’ll just need the slaves like I dunno maybe 5..10 more years? That sounds pretty fair, right?” Sorry to disappoint you, the population of old ladies in the church, but I’m getting out of here as soon as I can.