I was 11 when we moved to St. Louis. My dad took a position as Youth Minister at a church in Ladue. We were closer to my grandparents and dad's side of the family, to my dad's lifelong best friend, Steve, and back in his hometown. Moving to St. Louis felt so glamorous and mature to me. I made fast friends in the youth group, and being the daughter of one of the ministers, quickly inherited 400 people who loved me and my family and were for us. It was instant acceptance and instant family. I was excited to be a part of that church. I felt alive and like I had another chance at reinventing the "cool" me that I desperately wanted to be. Everything was exciting. My friends in the youth group were all older and just so cool. I got to spend tons of time with my dad since we were always doing youth group and church activities together. Since my dad was my favorite and most beloved person, this was heaven. He was my best friend, the one I confided everything in, although I would not have admitted that at the time. He was just so COOL. What daughter wouldn't be so proud of a dad that teenagers wanted to hang out with, ones who were fine with being seen with him at the movies on a Friday night. This was a charmed life, at least when I was with him.
Every Sunday morning we went to church, stayed for lunch in the Fellowship Hall, drove the 25 miles home to relax for about an hour, and then my dad and I would head back to the church for youth group that evening. If we didn't have youth group, a bunch of us were usually hanging out anyways. Wednesday nights were devoted to youth group, and at least that Friday or Saturday was spent doing activities like video scavenger hunts, service projects, and lock-ins. At least every other month we took a weekend trip, whether it was to Pinecrest, youth rallies, Cardboard Castles, or Spring Sing. There were church ladies retreats at Camp Lakewood, family retreats at Neotez, the most wonderful place on earth. During the summer, we spent at least one week at Neotez and we would drive the five+ hours to Arkansas for a week of Uplift on Harding's campus. There was always a week-long mission trip or camping trip to Colorado. Tuesdays were service project days that usually ended at the pool or getting ice cream. Bible class, church picnics, Small groups, singing group, girly sleepovers. Aside from school, my world was church. I loved knowing every single person at church, feeling like every mom there's daughter; even the constant hugs from the old ladies and lectures from the grown-ups. This, to me, was family.
My dad had replaced the former youth minister, who was one of his closest friends. Eric was fired from being the youth minister after his wife left him, and there were "concerned parents" that were afraid that Eric, being in his twenties, would take solace in romancing one of their beautiful 16 year old daughters. I remember sitting at a Dairy Queen, pretending not to listen as Eric told my dad he had asked the elders to replace him with my dad, because if his youth group had to go to anyone else, he wanted it to be him. I probably would have felt bad for the guy, but his misfortune meant a whole new world for me. Eric kept going to that church and even kept helping out with the youth group. My dad was always the most loyal friend. He knew how hard it must have been for his friend to not only lose his wife and his job, but also to feel like he lost his own kids, because that's how close he was with the youth group.
There was one Sunday night, not too long after my dad moved us to St. Louis, that the youth group decided to hang out after Sunday night service. This was before cell phones, when you had to make a solid plan in advance in order to hang out with your friends. The youth group stood around and talked about options of where to go. Eric spoke up and offered for everyone to come to his place. I could tell this was a little awkward for my dad, as he was still the new youth minister, trying to earn his place among a youth group who still were so deeply loyal and attached to the former one. Was it okay to go hang out at the old youth minister's house? And with the new youth minister? I watched everyone intently, like the scene from a movie. I have always been so vigilant and watchful of other people. My dad made light of the awkwardness I'm sure everyone felt. People started deciding who would ride with who over to Eric's apartment. Naturally I was going to ride with my dad. Eric offered to take a car full. It seemed like everyone else had driven their own cars or were riding with their friend who had. Somehow no one ended up riding with me and my dad. Everyone walked out to the parking lot together. My dad and I sat in the humming car, windows down, waiting to be part of the caravan while everyone else stood chatting at Eric's car.
"Go on ahead! We'll be right behind you," yelled Eric to my dad.
My dad and I drove to Eric's apartment and waited. No one came. We waited for at least an hour. We waited at his door, then stood down in the parking lot, but no ones' car pulled in.
My dad always had the kindest and most compassionate eyes. His whole face smiled, and he was always in a good mood, always wise and statuesque. But I remember the look on his face that night, as we both realized no one was coming. He'd been tricked, left out, ditched, and we both knew it.
"Well...that's alright Babe," he said as we walked to the car. "Probably just a mixup." He half smiled but I knew that was just to hide the pain he felt. I could see the pain of betrayal behind his kind eyes. I didn't fully understand it, but I sensed the awkwardness, the way everyone avoided eye contact with my dad that next Wednesday. I'm sure someone gave an excuse as to why none of them followed us to Eric's house as planned, but I don't remember. I just remember the tension in Eric's voice as he sat in the room of teenagers when we walked in.
"Hey, Jeff," he said, with a smug look on his face. "Sorry about the other night," he offered, mentally daring my dad to confront him. I watched my 6'4", confident, built, seemingly untouchable Daddy lower his head like a puppy with his tail between his legs. I wanted to kill Eric.
