Life without church? Unimaginable!

By Annette Falisi,—Dix Hills, New York

When I was a kid, going to church rivaled sitting through a lecture from my dad— painful moments of thick boredom accompanied by the monotony of hearing the usual words over and over in the same insistent voice. They really were quite similar, church and my father's lectures. You see, my dad was the minister.

Yep, I'm a P.K., short for Pastor's Kid. And where does every good little P.K. belong on Sunday morning? My mom sure knows—sitting right next to her, fifth pew back, on the left-hand side. I go, but not without a fight. Every Sunday brings a battle of getting me into that pew for my dad to see from his pulpit.

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