I was a PK, a Preacher’s Kid, and I had forgotten that was my primary identity until I visited my hometown. Someone asked, “Aren’t you Pastor Johnson’s daughter?” decades after I had left that role behind.
The worst incident, which I cite when explaining the reasons I left my hometown, was the reaction of a boy I had a crush on. We were on a Luther League hayride where we could burrow into the hay in the back of the wagon and get handsy with the person next to us.
The person next to me turned and looked deep into my longing with his beautiful brown eyes and said, “I would never try anything with you. I respect your father too much.”