I was a P. K. and I lived in a Manse. Now both the initials P. K. and the word Manse may need a bit of explaining. P.K., a “preacher’s kid”, was considered a special designation for any child born to a “preacher” or “minister” as my father and I preferred to be called. As you see, I survived being a “P.K.” and even became a minister and the parent of two “P.K.s” who are now adults and may or not tell you about their experiences. A “Manse” is the physical house in which every Presbyterian “P.K.” lives out their childhood.
The term “P.K.” was sometimes used by members of the congregation or people in town who expected, even rejoiced when the “preacher’s kid” was not prefect. Many children who were called “P.K.s” grew up and bonded with other “P.K.s”, almost as if the term put them into a special fraternity that few outsiders could understand.
When my father took us to Louisiana we moved into what was considered a typical manse. This was a large home directly across the street from a spacious sanctuary, which could easily hold the entire congregation. Each Sunday he would invite any who wanted to join us for Sunday dinner to our home. Most Sundays there were several strangers who had dinner with us. Each sat at the long table and seemed to appreciate the dinner prepared by a black maid who prepared more than an ample meal for all. The family who lived upstairs and my aunt who lived with us in the manse were expected to help make the strangers welcome. If there were too many to have a place available for the family we were supposed to wait and eat later.
There was one Sunday no one was invited to the manse and of course no one came. Some of my neighborhood friends, especially my best friend a Roman Catholic boy my age, told me that my father would be fired at the meeting after church that Sunday. How he knew, I don’t know. My father was not present for the meeting and had arranged for someone else to preach in his place. The visiting minister would conduct the meeting, which would dissolve the pastoral relationship. Of course, days later, we were on our way out of town after a large moving van had loaded our furniture and carried us to a basement apartment a thousand miles away. I was only nine, but for some five years I had been a P. K. living in a manse. There was another such relationship that did not last for as long a time as the Louisiana one had. This was a small town in Texas and I was very much aware of my family’s turmoil while attending, but we then moved to an even smaller town and a smaller church. This time there was no group that wanted to get rid of my father. The manse was even smaller but it was far enough away for comfort. I spent my last High School year there and after graduation came home only on occasion when I had nowhere else to go. But I somehow managed to survive and eventually became a minister myself. Fortunately I had learned to avoid at least some of my father’s shortcomings and never had to live a manse next to the church. In short I did not force my offspring’s to be PK’s living in a Manse. Our Manses, while I was a minister, were located almost two miles from the church I served and my wife always reminded anyone who called my children “P.K.s” that they were the way they were because they learned how to be children from their playmates: “E.K.s” and “D.K.s”, “elder’s kids” and “deacon’s kids”.
The above experiences of “A P.K. in a Manse” are included in my book, Angel Kisses And My Beating Heart, in a slightly different wording along with many more experiences of my life as A P.K. in a Manse. You will find much more of my life experiences: my college and post college education, my career choices, my romance, my marriage, our experiences living in manses and our life as spouse trailers after that. Of course, I have included my near death experience and my Angel Kiss. Life in a Manse, to sum up my life, has been fun, a life I wouldn’t trade with anyone.
--Jack C. Ramsay, Jr., February 20, 2007*
*This article is a shortened version of only one of the stories that will be found in much more complete detail in Angel Kisses And My Beating Heart.
