To my Dear PC, writes...

You ain't seen nothing yet.

Back at Sec school, I had a water bottle from my Js days. My Eldest Sis had passed that water bottle to me and it felt too legendary to let go just because I had become a senior girl. Can't say I've got a thing for water, but I carried water in that bottle to school up to SS3.

My bad! My class girls would sometimes poke fun at me. Probably just before the usual morning assembly, (was always their perfect time) one would sarcastically say,

"Baby Ify..." and when my expression would go,

"Why?" she'ud reply,

"only babies carry water to school nah. Are you not a baby? Carrying water like them." 

Others would snigger approvingly.

I'ud sometimes chuckle, tired from the incessant reminder already.

My baby water bottle was THIS big, which meant about 5 or 6 ADULT classmates of mine could each have one satisfying cup off it and I'ud still be left a cup or two if no extra Adult classmate wonned some, that is. Well, I learnt then to diligently lock my baby water bottle in my desk or school bag anytime I had to leave, for break, French lab, etc. 

You see, my ADULT class girls had this HUGE thirst-appetite only my baby water could satiate, and since my baby self wanted them to stay Adults, LOCK was the word.

They seemingly forgot easily but my memory stayed put. For, often they'ud come in from break and Miss Anti-Baby-Classmate would go,

"Ehn Ify, water mbok!" (water pls)

"Me too" another would say

"Thank God for this your water sef..." a third would add. 

All the while the water never show o, dey just dey wash demselves!

Then I would tactily say,
"I have just enough for me"

Or

"Adults don't drink from 'feeding' bottles"
Or any of those my-laugh-comes-last replies. And maybe while I'm yet speaking, one particular 'lion-hearted' one (no be today!) would unsuspectingly shake the bottle and scream,

"Hah! You've not even touched this thing today, it's still full."

"Drink Nah!!!" I'ud threaten inside, buh outside I'ud say, "I'm not giving, simple!"

When it dawns on them its a serious 'NO', all hell breaks loose!

"Mrs Anuonye's daughter! SCM! Chapel PrefectS! After now you'ud come and carry bible and go for SCM! You're doing stingy for common water, common water?! Mtchewww....." The hiss even begets grandchildren often.

God helps you it's a Tuesday, the SCM (Student Christian Movement) meeting day, you're done for! They'ud simply shred the day's message and apply the bits to your matter. However they do that part.

I eventually developed a tough really thick skin for my classmates, my set generally, though not before they left me the mentality that I had to explain my actions, swallow their shyt for 'SCM' and desist from SEVERAL acts.

The whole Pastors Child thing was drooping my shoulders.

Back home in God's House, the midst of the brethren wasn't any funnier.

You had to button up to the neck least the Spirit departs from the space in between!

You had to cover your low-cut-hair intoto least the Spirit sees your hair line and goes back to eligwe (heaven).

You had to say "Amen" to every Hallelujah so THEY know your mind aint tuned to some anti-Pastors'-Child thoughts.

You become a teen; How dare you lip-gloss? Some 'concerned' brethren begin dreaming dreams un-behalf of your Ma.

You walk into God's house and THEY leave their eyes behind you. One of they 'concerned', probably does ask no one in particular,

"Is that legs I'm seeing in Ify's skirt?" (Nah, it's teeth!)

Another replies, "my sis that's what we see o. These Pastors Children don't know what they represent." 

Your leg-level dress is the distraction, they need it toe-level.

The problem; THEY! They measure by their standards NOT the standard of Jesus, NO, not His! Everyone's so busy making sure you fit in physically and properly into the Pastors Child skin that no one stops to care what troubles your soul fights.

My solution; find Jesus for yourself. When you do, He leads you in the path of righteousness and as you grow in Him, you learn to live a life free of obligations to explain nothing!

Believe me dear, you don't wonna help those women celebrate their acclaimed 'revelationary' gift, it kills faster than the mess you probably get into;

"Sis Angel, you said it o. You said this girl would get herself pregnant!", Sis Purity reminds excitedly.

"Didn't I say it?!" lips paused in that tatafo manner.
"...I knew what I saw when I warned her mother. See now? A whole Pastors' Child!" Sis Angel would intone, Godly sympathy elusive.

I feel joy now anytime I'm asked, "Are you a pastors' child?"

For I smile and proudly say, "I am. Both parent are pastors. Dad is known as a pastor and mum even went through theology school."

Then someone maybe goes, "No wonder." And within I tell myself, "It's NOT the Pastorial Gene, Jesus made the difference!"

To all my kind out there struggling with an identity, your identity lies in Jesus. Find Him!

Dearest Pastors' Child, I wrote this one for you.