When I came home during breaks in college, I made sure to find a seasonal job and pick up as many hours as I could. Take your shift? Sure! Take an extra shift? Sure! Someone called in sick? I'll stay late, sure! I schemed to make sure I was closing so that I could wake up late, enjoy a silent house, and then leave before they came home. There were a few times where I would say I was working and instead hang out with friends, and those were glorious days of freedom.
After college, I moved back home and a dilemma presented itself. I had lived by my own schedule, coming and going as I please, for 4 years. What now? It became very clear that my non-curfew from high school was still in place after I babysat for my pastor. Yep. Pastor.
At the time, my pastor was probably in late 30s or early 40s, and a friend of his was finally getting married. He was to be a groomsman, so he and his wife were looking for a babysitter for their 3 children while they celebrated this very special occasion. I was a graduate student at the time, so I gladly offered my help. Besides, they lived just 7 or so minutes away from my house.
That night, I played some Scrabble with the eldest, shared some girl talk with the middle, and put the stubborn youngest to sleep successfully. I was enjoying the silence of the house when my pastor called to say he'd be a little late. Maybe 30 minutes. This would put me home past midnight, so I called the Czar. The response I got beyond baffled me.
What kind of church is this? What kind of pastor stays out and leaves his kids at home past midnight? You... are a street walker. What are you doing!? You're so stupid. This is ridiculous!
Yep. He called me a prostitute. Babysitting for my pastor who lives 7 minutes away until 12:30 on a Saturday night as a 23-year-old clearly means I'm selling my body for money. Is it any wonder that I've learned to lie so easily to them? It's very sad, but it's the only way I can get any sense of freedom. So if anyone asks, I'm working late tonight...
