It was the so called “sweet” sixteen year of my life. A new youth pastor came to the church where I was a musician. Upon arrival, he proceeded to contact all of the teenage girls after 10pm via phone. Let me also mention that none of the boys were contacted. Once this was brought to the attention of the pastor’s wife, he was promptly briefed on proper interactions with his young flock. Upon sight, I did not care for this individual. My father could not stand him and made that known to my mother who insisted that I give him a chance.
One Sunday morning after service, I made my way to the bathroom. Unfortunately, I saw the youth pastor on the way. My feet took me through an alternative route into the kitchen. All of a sudden, the door slammed behind me and he was standing there staring at me. He said that if he did not know better, he would think that I was trying to avoid him. A nervous smile crossed my face as I escaped through the opposite door. When I went home, I told my father what happened. He furiously explained to my mother that she would take care of the situation that same day or else neither of us would return to the church. She called the pastor’s wife again. The youth pastor was married within weeks and soon vanished. Never to be heard from again.