Okay, so I -am- a preacher's kid. And let me tell ya'll... *shakes her head* I'm 24, so I'm not much of a kid anymore, but I have a few insights as to why preacher's kids act the way that they do.
My father became a preacher when I was seven years old. Up until that time, I had lived in one house, which was ours to do with as we would, and my family life was private.
When dad became a preacher, we had to sell our house. Next thing I know, we're living in my grandmother's house like paupers while waiting for the church to give my father his first assignment. I was at that school for three months. Then, we were moved to another town, forty minutes away.
Well, we move in, to be told that we don't even have the rights of renters. Our house was subjected to random, unnanounced inspections, including my and my younger brother's rooms. Our playroom was looked on in disgrace by the church-goers, because it was messy. We were held to ridiculously high standards both inside and outside of the church setting. In public, we were supposed to be perfectly dressed, perfectly behaved little angels. Hello? I was eight years old? Of course I'm not going to wear the cute little dress and sit quietly and talk politics with the grown-ups. I ran and played like a boy, often known to come stumbling through the door, covered in dirt and bleeding from a bike wreck.
Oh, and how the rumors did fly through the church. We were moved a mere two years later, three hours away, where I lived six miles from the nearest neighbor. Do you know how BORING it is when the church won't even allow you to have television in your house, because it is "The Devil's Work", and you live six miles from anyone? I was now ten or eleven, so just at that age where you want to play, but have no play buddies. My little brother was all the company I had on long summer days. I remember once, at this location, we had a blizzard and the power went out. We had no heat, no water, nothing. It was two weeks before someone from the church bothered to inform the national guard that their preacher probably needed rescuing. It was another week before we were rescued. Four feet of snow.
We were moved again when I was fourteen. We moved to a little town on the New River. Okay, by this point, I had COMPLETELY given up on making friends. I mean, what's the point in having friends when you're just going to be moved again in three years? Let me tell you a few rules of church-life: Once you are transferred from a parish, you're never allowed to go back. Not you, not your wife, not your kids. Can you imagine how much this hurts a child? "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart, I know you want to see your old friends, but the Chruch says that you're not allowed to see them anymore."
Okay, enough ranting. Basically, in this town, we lived in a historic parsonage. Try to imagine this: a fifteen year old girl, with a twleve year old little brother, having to stand before a church committee and ASK PERMISSION to hang up a poster in their room? People from this church wouldn't even knock. They would just walk in and announce "Parsonage Inspection!" at the top of their lungs, and start poking through all of our things.
So, all of you who are wondering why preacher's kids move out as soon as they can, and don't go to church anymore, you have your reasonings above. I haven't gone to church since I moved out when I was 18. True, I'm still a Christian, but to actually go to church simply carries too many memories of being slapped upside the head in the middle of service by a man I don't know for "fidgeting", or having my braid grabbed by a woman who wasn't my mother and being yanked off a bike because "proper christian women don't ride bicycles". Or, the best yet, everyone, EVERYONE in the church assuming that I provide a free babysitting service because my father is a preacher. Do you have any idea what it's like to have ten three year olds dropped off at random points throughout the day, and you're supposed to feed them, take care of them, and teach them Bible stories for six or seven hours, only to be told "Thank you" or "Bless you, child" when they're picked up, never seeing a cent? I mean, come on, I should have been doing my homework, not watching other people's kids!
All in all, I've given a mere summary of my life as a preacher's kid. I attended 14 different schools through 12th grade, making straight As. I never failed a grade. I lived in 9 different towns. I had friends I wasn't allowed to visit anymore scattered from one side of this state to another. I may sound whiney to you guys, but it was terribly hard and frustrating on a young girl.
So, please, treat your preacher's kids nicely. I know I'm jaded from it, but it doesn't mean that every other preacher's kid out there has to experience the same things I did growing up.
They are no different from the rest of us *born sinners* who has the choice to accept/reject Christ. The sad thing is that PKs/MKs gets to see the more negative stuff about members/other christians and is a big turn off cause of they hypocritical attitudes/beliefs/lifestyles. Pastors are expected to be on call 24/7 when you don't find that in the majority of jobs. Members are always finding ways to take/need the father's attention for their own issues. Sometimes PKs feel totally cheated cause of it and expected to accept it no matter what. If you're not praying for/encouraging your pastor's family, then you should start.
Hugs to all your PK'ers
We won't have a good enough excuse for not doing what God expects from us personally. God is keeping record & will make all things right. 
