What it’s like to be a vicar’s daughter at uni

I’m Chloe, I’m 18, and my dad’s a vicar.

I thought I was used to the questions people asked me as I was growing up, but now I’m at uni I have to explain it all over again. So, to save repeating myself, here are the big bad secrets of what it’s really like to be a vicar’s daughter at university.

First thing’s first: no, I do not live in a church (you’d be surprised how many people ask me that). The home is called the vicarage.

Surprisingly I can’t recite it from start to finish

I don’t say grace over every meal and as cool as it could be, my dad does not say “Praise Jesus Hallelujah” over dinner. Just because I’m mixed-race does not mean my dad is black and “therefore” head of a gospel church that dance, clap and say “Ay-men” to everything. Let’s get rid of the Hollywood stereotype here – sorry to disappoint but we’re just your average Church of England traditional type.

As funny as you think you are (drunk and getting to know me at pres) the joke “Do you call your dad ‘Father Father’?” is getting really old.

I do not know the ins-and-outs of the Bible, so please stop asking me for references.  Once a school assembly speaker asked a Christian-related question and then, without me even raising my hand, pointed to me and said “I won’t ask you Chloe because you’re bound to know the answer,” (followed by a quick wink and a smile.) What? It then turned out that the answer in my head was wrong, but I wasn’t about to tell her that.

I am free to decide for myself whether or not God exists and when I want to have sex (within reason.) The “Do you believe in God?” and “Can you have sex before marriage?” questions are 100 per cent hands-down the very first thing people ask me when they find out my dad’s a vicar – hence I kept that little detail secret over Freshers Drinking Games.

Firstly, my sister has a boyfriend (now fiancé) and so she cleared the way for me long ago. Secondly, religion is all about moulding and re-moulding the way you think, even when you are trying to stay faithful to your inner-most beliefs. So yes, I can have doubts and ask questions; but that’s the best part about having a vicar in the family, we can talk and question it all together.

Also, I am allowed to drink…. and get very, very drunk. Dad’s been there, mum’s been there: it’s Uni. They know what it’s about, and they also know I’m capable of being sensible when necessary and that I will learn from experience just how much is too far.

Me when people ask me stupid questions about religion

Sometimes my dad swears and I’m sure he assumes I do too when I’m away (not that I recommend it.) But let’s face it, some jokes just don’t work without them – and sometimes it’s annoying when you break something. I will get Easter eggs from anyone trying to suck up to the new vicar so don’t think I’ll go hungry in this holiday, and no I won’t be sharing them with my housemates.

I have been to more funerals than is probably good for me. When I proudly present my new ghost story/tragic suicide story to my mum she always follows with: “Why is everything you write so depressing, you had such a lovely childhood!” She was right of course, I had an amazing childhood; but who doesn’t love the occasional thriller when you’re cooped up in the vestry next to rows of cassocks while there’s a coffin in the next room (#schoolholidaybantz).

He’s a vicar to you but to me he’s just my dad

Forget frat parties and Lit Soc, Church youth groups were a fundamental part of my growing up, no matter how lame people might think they are – not to mention we had the most incredible firework nights, so I will never cease to value the connections I made there.

And finally,  my dad is not his job, and I am not my dad – even if my mum says I am. So please don’t assume a bunch of nonsense based on what he does for a living like I won’t judge you for what your parents do.

I’m glad to be the “daughter of a preacher man”  – because that preacher’s my dad.