The Son of the Other Reverend

Rather by surprise, the oldest son of the other Reverend stopped by yesterday on his way down to Alabama. I hadn't seen him in years, but he still looked the same, but older. It was really good to see him and Mrs. Wigglebottom loved him and he loved her and so it was all dog wrestling and tug of war all evening and I think she pulled something because today she's walking with a limp. Ah well, I'm certain that after a hard day of sleeping, she'll feel better. It was really good to see him, but hard. Usually, when I talk about what it means to have grown up as a minister's kid, I can see that most people just don't get it--unless they're military brats, in which case, we have common ground--and so I talk about it in only superficial ways. But with another minister's kid, someone who I've known for 31 years, you just skip right to the ways you still feel fucked up. In part, I think, because it's such a relief to know that you are finally talking to someone who gets it. But wow. And, I think the hardest part was that his dad has really done him and his brother wrong in ways our dad--who, of course, isn't perfect--just never did. Our dad was there at dinner. Our dad didn't leave anyone in another town to finish up high school so that he could take a better church. Our dad would come and get us at school when we were sick and let us sleep on the couch in his office if he couldn't take the day off work. And I felt a little sorry to tell him that, because I think he'd just thought that all ministers' kids were being done wrong the way he and his brother were. So, it could always be worse. Sadly.