I’ve been asked the same question my whole life. “What’s it like to be a pastor’s kid?”
Or better yet, “It must be amazing to be Dwayne Roberts’ daughter!”
I love being my dad’s daughter, but not because he’s a pastor.
What is it like to be a pastor’s kid? A lot of it depends on where you live, and the church your parents lead, among other things. But there are a few constants in the life of a pastor’s kid.
First off, you’re the first one to show up and the last one to leave. You get to the church building early on a Sunday morning to make sure everything is ready to do. And you stay until you and your family are the last ones in the building. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve sat in a random chair in the church building waiting for my parents to stop talking to whoever.
Second, there are usually a lot of eyes on you. People watch you. They want to know how you act and if you’re “holy” enough. This was especially the case when I lived in Brazil. I would sit in our prayer room and at any given moment look behind me and see someone looking at me. I got used to it.
Thirdly, pastor’s kids are judged by others, a lot. There are enormous expectations on how pastor’s kids should walk, talk, and act. The congregation feels the right to scrutinize them to make sure they’re doing it all right. And sometimes, they even feel the need to go and correct said pastor’s kid if they feel they are out of line. Go away Linda, we don’t need to hear from you. Self-righteousness at its finest.
This pressure usually causes pastor’s kids to respond in one of three ways. One, they become perfectionists and perform. They know all the expectations of them and do their absolute best to meet them. Second, it causes them to go the opposite way and “rebel”. They say things like “You think I don’t lift my hands up enough in church? Well now you’re really gonna see me mess up.” And they go wild. Occasionally a pastor’s kid will get a pretty tough skin and not care in the slightest what the congregants think of them. They carry on like normal and look straight ahead as everyone stares at them.
Sometimes pastor’s kids can be a combination of all of these types. The pressure can cause kids to perform and eventually snap and come full circle to not caring.
The absolute worst part of being a pastor’s kid for me is simple: suck-ups.
I can’t stand them.
I’ve developed a sixth sense to smell them out. You can see them coming a mile away. When I was younger, people would think it’s “helpful” to try and parent the pastor’s kid. It was not. I didn’t much appreciate when little brown-nosers told me what to do in an attempt to gain my parent’s approval. It didn’t work on them, and it sure as heck didn’t make me like you.
When I became older, it would often manifest in people trying really hard to become my friend. When someone works exceptionally hard to enter my friend group it doesn’t sit well with them. Friendships are meant to form organically. Anything forced is awkward and a bit sad. A few years into living in Brazil I enacted a policy for myself. Before becoming friends with someone, I would observe them in the prayer room for about 6 months to see if they were a suck-up or a weirdo. Once I started doing that the drama in my life went down considerably.
Now onto the topic at hand. Whether you realize this or not, pastors’ kids know stuff. They know stuff.
When I was younger, I didn’t pick up on much that my parents would talk about related to pastor stuff. It was boring. When I got a bit older, like 10, there was nothing I wanted more than to hear all the scuttlebutt. If I heard hushed tones I would rush in to hear what they were saying.
As I grew older in Brazil, they would have conversations all the time about church stuff. They would shield us as best they could, but let’s be honest, kids are nosy. If I overheard stuff or some other person shared confidential information in front of me (people think kids don’t listen, but they do), my parents would ask me to not share the information with anyone. I learned how to become a vault.
It would be weird if the 14-year-old pastor’s kid started sharing with everyone about how they knew that so-and-so was struggling in their marriage or doing drugs. I had to learn when it was okay to share and when it wasn’t.
But here’s the thing.
There came a point when other people would find out information and start talking. I cannot tell you how many times I would be in conversations when people would talk about something they heard. I would have to play dumb and pretend like I didn’t know the information. They knew about 15% of the story, I knew the other 85% and would keep it to myself.
A few times I would “guide” the conversation. Usually telling people to quit gossiping or tell them to go share what they’ve heard with so-and-so.
I started to notice something as I got older. I didn’t want to know anymore. I stopped rushing into the room when I heard whispers. I didn’t eavesdrop. The information started to become a weight. I didn’t know what any of it meant as a kid, it was just random bits of information. But as a 17 year old I could put two and two together and it became a lot.
I didn’t want to know about my friend’s issues that they shared confidentially with the pastoral team. I didn’t want to hear how some guy is leaving his wife for someone else. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to lean into “ignorance is bliss”.
I was a vault. I still am. If someone shares confidential information with me I ain’t telling.
But I had to learn how to use my voice at one point. I was so used to being the 15-year-old who wasn’t supposed to know stuff that I didn’t know how to be the 23-year-old who was an adult with opinions.
For so long I knew heavy information with no recourse. I knew about all the ways my parents were being mistreated, and couldn’t say anything. Who was gonna listen to a kid anyway? I had to learn to speak up and share what I thought when appropriate. I don’t appreciate it when people come after my family.
There was some fruit from all this though. I had to learn how to not treat people differently when I knew about all the crap going on behind the scenes of their lives.
I would find out that certain people were having certain struggles and have to interact with them the same way I did before I knew. First, this became a necessity. But it turned into the overflow of my heart.
When I know someone’s sin, I don’t need to treat them differently. Jesus doesn’t treat me differently and he knows all of my sin. Why should I treat my brother or sister differently?
I am not talking about ignoring the red flags you see in people’s lives. Depending on what they are struggling with, some boundaries might be healthy. But I would always talk with my parents, especially if the person was someone I interacted with daily.
Pastor’s Kids get a lot of heat. They snap from all the pressure and the people constantly watching. It’s hard. It’s even harder when the pastors at home are applying even more pressure for them to play the part. I’m so thankful my parents were never like that.
Next time you’re in church, lift a silent prayer for the pastor’s kid instead of judging them if they’re sitting in the front and looking at their phone. When you show up to service, they’re been there for hours. Give them a break.
I am thankful that Jesus encountered me when I felt the pressure and when I “knew too much”. He taught me how to love people, even when they’re not perfect.
Still working on loving the suck-ups though. That’s a hard one.
Photo by Cherish Smith
Yes ma'am. I too am a PK, although 60+ with grown kids of my own. My dad has been with the Lord more than 15 years. And yet, once a PK, always a PK. And I give a resounding YES to everything you said. My dad always preached at small churches, which I think exacerbated the fishbowl effect. My dad was the staff. I struggled with everyone knowing your business, and the expected perfection from deacons and congregation. Sunday school teachers who expected me to have a masters in theology were my favorite (insert eyeroll here.) For me, it was isolating. I had my own rebellion after I left my parents house, but I also heard God's wooing and returned to Him as a young mom. I heard too much, knew too much and understood from a young age that what you hear here stays here. I too am a great vault, but very bad at sharing what's on my heart. Praying for preachers kids has been part of my prayer ministry for a long time.