Mark hugs daughter Emily as wife, Cheryl, watches on.

Preachers' Daughters

AUTHOR Monica Heisey
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Mark and Cheryl watch as Olivia feeds her baby daughter

Olivia Perry with her parents

Nikita and Kolby Koloff and their family in Preacher's Daughters

Kolby Koloff with her family

Mum, you were right


So the thing that defines Preachers’ Daughters and the thing that makes us tune in week after week is the fights the girls have with their parents because they’re not allowed to do this or that because of Jesus, etc, etc (plus also those awkward kitchen conversations where the word “penetration” is used frequently and brilliantly, obviously). But preachers’ daughters aren’t the only ones getting the “we’re not mad, we’re just disappointed” faces off parents. What about just… daughters? Monica Heisey is one of those and she’s following up on some stuff her mum said years ago. Turns out, mum was right.

Well, sort of. Mostly. A bit.

Mark and Cheryl watch as Olivia feeds her baby daughter

Olivia Perry with her parents

Hi Mum,

So. If you’ve found this it means you finally figured out Google, in which case I’m proud of you but don’t do too much routing around under the “Monica Heisey” search because it’s not all stuff you want to read, and you can trust me there. But I’m glad you’re here, because I have something to say to you: you were right.

You were right about that thing I was doing with my hair in grade six, where I’d put my headband in the middle of my head, dividing my hair in half and not performing any of the practical or aesthetic functions of a headband. Looking back you were actually right about basically everything I did with my hair from ages 10 through to 16. Somehow, even the total lunacy behind your “make up is unnecessary” policy has melted away with time and I’m grateful not to have spent the late nineties covered in poorly applied Maybelline, with the notable exception of the Blue Mascara Phase of 1999.

You were also right about the Blue Mascara Phase of 1999. And you were right about that boy, he was not good enough. You were VERY right about teenage boys in general, although what they’re after is perhaps not as threatening as you thought, and it was also something I was after in my own way. We all got there eventually, and as I said, please do not Google me any further or you may find out exactly how.

You were right about my friends and I: we were actually the cool ones. Kind of. Well, we definitely weren’t any less cool than the allegedly ‘cool’ kids who looked good in Adidas tearaways and understood how sports work. Although I am not sure you were right about them being jealous of us. I think they were just kind of mean. But I see from Facebook that they all work pretty boring jobs and mostly live in the suburbs, so maybe they are jealous now.

You were right about my boobs. I love them now. I am glad I did not cut them off in the name of that dress I wanted for grade ten formal like I said I would.  You were right about me being smart. I’m smart! And that’s not embarrassing.  It’s crazy to me that I ever felt like you couldn’t understand things because you were older. That is precisely why you do understand, and as much as the 30 year gap between us feels like it’s closing as we age, I know you’re always going to have more Life Experience (and, therefore, wisdom) than I would even know what to do with.

Now look: I stand by a lot of my whacked out, youthful choices. The blue mascara was bad, sure. But it was part of the first awkward steps of a young weirdo finding her footing. There is a lot to regret about those steps, certainly (shout out to my lite goth phase!), but you—despite being, as we have discussed, always, always right—saw my chosen, weird wrongness and let it be right, for me, right then.  And that’s the most righteous thing ever.

Thanks Mum.



P.S. Seriously don’t ever Google me.



Nikita and Kolby Koloff and their family in Preacher's Daughters

Kolby Koloff with her family

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