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Growing up a P.K.

Growing up as a preacher’s kid was interesting to say the least. Folks say preachers’ kids are the worst. I would have to agree with that. One of the reasons we were constantly getting into trouble all the time was that when my friends and I were out in the community playing, we run out of fun things to do and that is when we got into trouble. We would think something that we knew we should not do and that would cause the preacher’s kid in us to be pushed into action. All of the guys that I was hanging with would say to each other, “You go first,” then the other would quickly respond, “no, you go first,” and then they would say “Let Donald go first,” and at the same time they would say “No, he won’t do it cause he is a preacher’s kid.” I felt like I was forced to prove I was one of the guys by being the first and leading the way to whatever mischief we were about to get into. Then when we got caught, I was always the one who supposedly led all the other guys into trouble.

When growing up, one of my best friends was also a preacher’s kid. His name was Jeff Brown. Jeff’s dad was Rev T.J. Brown. We were about two weeks apart in age. Jeff’s family attended the church where my dad was the pastor on Guinn Street. The church had a large Sunday school room on each side in the back of the church. The room had folding doors and just before morning worship would begin we would open the doors just wide enough so that his folks and my folks could see us sitting in that room. After the song service and the offering was taken we would slowly slip behind the doors and ease out the back through a window. We would go behind the church and play, and sometimes we would even walk a couple of streets over to my house and boil a hot dog. That church has so many good and not so good memories for me. I received several whippings, spankings, and my mother also pinched the fire out of me one Sunday when I would not quit talking in church.

Being a preacher’s kid was not always bad. When I got to the age that I could date, the mothers always trusted me with their little girls because I was the “preacher’s kid.” I tried not to violate their trust. I met my wife of 48 years there, I got married there, and I got saved and baptized there.

I still go by there and reminisce every now and then and think about all the good times I had there. I had a great time growing up in LaGrange, and I will share more of my memories next week.

God Bless!


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