The Preachers Daughter

Chapter One

My father grabbed my hand and we bowed our head as the pastor started praying into the mic. Today was a special day for my family, and I can't help the joy and excitement I feel. I was born on the south side of Chicago and remained here all my life. We weren't the richest family but my parents made everything happen in ways that I'll never know. Once upon a time, Chicago was the murder capital of the entire country. What the people in the media called crime, I called every day life. I look on the news and see other places in the world and they seem so much worse than what I have to deal with. Yeah, I might have to walk through a medal detector when I go to school. I am afraid to take the trash out at night sometimes. But I know for a fact Chicago isn't the only place it's like that.

My father decided he wanted to give my mother and I the best life and the spiritual covering, as he calls it, that we needed. He told me growing up in the church is the best thing for me. It will keep me focused and out of the streets. I was never in the streets to begin with but if that's the reason he wants to give me, I won't go against it.

I'm the only child, so I guess you can say I'm more on the spoiled side. Anything I wanted, I got most of the time. If being spoiled wasn't enough, my body and facial features are way ahead of my time. I'm only seventeen and I could pass for twenty one. A lot of men have tried to come on to me while I'm walking to the store or coming home from school, and I do everything in my power to ignore them. I have curiosities and questions about the outside world but I know I don't want to learn it from old dirt McGurt shooting dice on the corner.

My mother was a very beautiful woman, and all the ladies in the church envied her. She always wore the best clothes and nice jewelry, and she had my dad. My father had a chocolate complexion, which is where I got it from. He was really in touch with our roots as a people and decided to dread his hair some years back. They're almost to the middle of his back now. I see the women when they gawk when we come into the church. My mother looks as if she wants to drag them all out by their hair but it makes me proud. I like being the center of attention and walking with my father is like walking with a celebrity. Especially now that he's about to get ordained.

The pastor ended the prayer and my father stood up from the pew he was sitting on and walked to stand behind the podium. They were about to start the ceremony of getting my father a seat in front of the alter. I've never seen my father as the preaching type but it's always room for new things. I thought about my mother sitting on the front row now with a big first lady's hat and I snickered.

"What has you so tickled?" my mother whispered in my ear.

"I just thought about you wearing one of those big hats".

"And why on Earth would I dare wear one of those?"

" 'Cause poppa is a preacher now".

"And that means I have to lose my sense of style?"

My mother was one of the brightest women at our church, and I don't mean intelligence wise. Something as small as a mosquito bite can make her turn as red as a tomato. She doesn't try to be as stuck up as some of these other women who go here. She doesn't try to hide who she is either. My mother has a full sleeve of tattoos on her arm and some on her legs but she doesn't try to hide them. She always told me growing up that God says come as you are and she's going to do just that. She had long, reddish hair, but she recently cut it off to a short bob. My father almost popped a blood vessel when he saw it.

I always looked up to my mother. The way she stayed so true to herself, and never let anything or anyone change who she needed to me, was how I pictured myself when I get a little older. My parents are the Hallmark example of how I want to be. Happily married, maybe kids, successful, and in love. The way my father looks at my mother ... sometimes it's too much for my eyes to even look at. He only sees her. And I feel like every man who has the woman of their dreams should look at her that way.

Once service was over, I was more than ready to head to my father's car and go home. We went to one of those old school type churches, where they didn't allow you to wear pants and when wearing a skirt or dress you had to wear stockings. Safe to say I follow the rules but these things are slowly rolling off of my wide hips. I knew they were getting to be too small but every time I bring it to my mother's attention, she looks at is as an opportunity to have that "you're becoming a woman" talk. It started when I first got my period and I've been hearing it ever since.

I walked up to the car, but my mother nor my father were here. She told me she had to talk to one of the ushers about next youth Sunday and she'd meet me at the car. Yet here I am, by myself, hungry and aggravated. I knew if anyone was going to take long, it was going to be my father. He loves to run his mouth after every service. It's to the point now that my mother has to drag him out by his tie, kicking and screaming.

I rolled my eyes and decided I'd go back in the church to look for my time avoiding parents. I know going through the front door will take forever since everyone is piling out, so the side door it is. I walked further into the parking lot and overheard voices arguing that sounded a lot like my mother and father. I tried to walk as quietly as I could with these heels on a little closer to ease drop on the conversation. I peeked behind a tree and was shock to realize it was them. They weren't ones to argue, at least they never did in front of me. Whatever is going on must be critical that they couldn't wait till we got home.

"How do you expect us to push Zoyanna in right direction Ashley, if you're not even doing it?", my father questioned.

"You act like us raising a child is one sided! Is that not the reason you had us join this uppity ass church to begin with? To push her in the right direction?"

I've never heard my mother curse until now. They must really be upset. And why are they arguing about me?

"Lower your voice", my father demanded.

"I'm not lowering shit, James! Zoy is your child, not me! So, don't talk down on me like you're my parent".

"Stop acting like a child and I wouldn't!"

"What is the issue? You know we're not making enough money to get her into that damn Vet school. So, what's the problem with me bringing in some extra cash?"

"The issue is it's dangerous! You are putting not only yourself, but our daughter in the line of fire! All because you can't shake off this lifestyle!"

"A lifestyle that's you and I both were heavy into. Don't get around these church bitches and forget where you come from".

"Just because I came from it doesn't mean we have to continue living in it".

"Whatever James, are we done here? I do have to get home to cook. Unless you're going to that bitch's house tonight".

"Ashley-"

My father stopped talking and I heard the echo of my mother's heels coming towards me. I know I should move from this spot because I completely look like I was listening to their conversation. I just couldn't move. The questions that are running through my mind are taking away my ability to move. My mother turned the corner and jumped when she saw me standing there. One look at my face and she knew.

"Come on Stinkie, lets get home. How does pork chops smothered in gravy sound for dinner?"

All I could do was nod. She wrapped her arms around my shoulder and we started walking back towards the car.

"Mom, where's Poppa?", I was finally able to ask.

Her smile vanished and I could feel the anger radiating from her body.

"He'll be home later".

"Where is he going now?"

She rubbed my shoulder, her face still showing her anger. "You don't have to worry about that, Inari. Mommy has it handled".

But what does that even mean?