9.08.2005

The Preacher's Kid

Preacher's kids are always in a mess. Why must I be a preacher's kid? The church folk expect you to be perfect; I mean I ain't no angel at all. Far be it for me to cut the fool and act insane, but that's what I do best. Whispers in the pews, yeah I hear 'em.

"Lawd, that child needs to be beat."

"She ain't no good, no way."

"I'm glad my child don't act like that."

Who knew saints could think that way. Trying to live in a manner that would uphold the sacred clothe, but I'm just being a child. I wish I could make mistakes the way other children do. Papa's never home. Somebody's sick or somebody's dead, so there he goes. Mama's always in the kitchen baking pies and fanning flies. It ain't fair, ain't fair at all.

"Don't make me tell your Papa," the good deacon said with one breath and with another he cut my Papa down.

Don't they know I can hear them. Don't they know I hear every word. I'm just another story of a preacher's kid.

Posted by Me :: 12:59 PM :: ---------------------------------------