Cameron County Echo’s Wandering Aimlessly
Preachers’ Meat
by Phil Burkhouse
When I was a kid I stayed at my grandmother’s house in the summer, which was located near the suburbs of Hazen. While visiting Grammy there was one phrase that would send me into the panic mode; “The preacher is coming to visit.” Grandma was a strict Methodist and kept alcohol out of the house, except of course for Grandpa’s medicinal use, and Grandpa and I were also not allowed to swear—when the preacher was there. I didn’t mind the prohibition on alcohol, but I was a mighty fine swearer, and preacher visits ranked between trips to the dentist and weeding the garden on my favorites list.