Preacher Son, Black Sheep.
By JB ~ W hen I was three years old, my father, who was a violent drunk, became a Christian. The night he was saved by his bedside, he tore through the house, throwing out anything and everything he felt would be displeasing to god, including his porn collection and the television. My mother soon followed suit and accepted god three weeks later. We began attending a Nazarene church , where I was baptized and my father felt the "call" to the ministry. Within a year we moved miles away from our hometown and my father began pastoring his first church. He worked third shift and went to Bible College during the day; the only time he and I interacted was when he would beat the crap out of me for any and all infractions my mother had deemed sinful throughout the day. And this was in addition to the abuse my mother handed out. My parents put on a good front within the church walls and when socializing with church people, showing stern love and kind correction, but at home it was