Not many people would believe me if I told them my parents used to be elders and youth pastors at my childhood church 10 years ago. They were offered the position of youth pastors young, around 26, still feeling like teens themselves. The group of kids that attended their youth group every week were not exactly the most studious of kids, but rather troubled kids of Marquette Heights, with broken homes, who attended youth group for the free food, or who came to get away from their parents. Week after week on Wednesday night, my siblings and I, all under age 7, were dragged alongside my parents to hang out with all the teens (and bug them a tad), playing garage band or board games. After a while, these high schoolers all became my parents’ children, and I began to see them more than once a week. Some would babysit us, run errands with my mom, or play basketball with my dad, but, most importantly, they would come round to play music all the time.