My First Holy Communion

I had just endured and survived my first holy Confession on Saturday: (Walk in single line into church on Saturday, sit in pews, wait for red light to go out, watch kid with freshly cleansed soul walk out, walk in confessional box, sit down, wait for priest, tell your sins, lie about a few of them, wait for absolution, get lecture, get absolution, finally, get penance, leave confessional, kneel in pews, say penance, leave church.) leaving me with a clean slate on my soul but not on My Permanent Record. Dare I say I was ready for the next phase of my catholic faith, my first holy communion.

Damn, (Say two Our Fathers and two Hail Mary's) I thought I was ready, but I found out there was actually a class for holy communion. And I had to study and there would be tests. Jesus Christ! (Say another 5 Our fathers and Five Hail Mary's for taking the Lord's name in vain) Seriously, how hard could it be. I have been dragged to church for several years and I did watch what the adults did when it was time for holy communion.

Stand up when it was your row's turn, fold your hands in prayer, get in line, walk up to the priest at the altar, open your mouth, stick your tongue out at the priest, (That was the great part) exchange some secret words, take the host on your tongue, close your mouth, say Amen, turn and walk back in line to your pew, kneel, and say a prayer. I had this down, I didn't need to take any stinking tests or read any books on first communion. I was ready dammit. (Close profanity word, just in case, say three Our Fathers and a sincere Act of Contrition)

Alas, the Nuns had other plans for us. For weeks, we practiced the above ritual. Getting in line, (Like we never had to get in line at school before, lines were our goddamn lives, (Yes, more Hail Mary's) we knew how to get in a line) walking up to the altar, simulating taking the host, and returning to our pews. We practiced day in and day out, took test after written test until we were ready. We even learned new church songs for this festive occasion. Let There Be Peace On Earth is the only song I can remember. Even back then, in second grade, the Nuns told me to sing the hymns very quietly so as to not take the rest of the class out of tune. (Fucking bitch nuns!) (Ten Hail Mary's, Ten Our Fathers)

That Sunday morning, I prepared for church, and being that it was my first communion, I wasn't allowed to eat anything an hour before church. Damn, (Two Hail Mary's, Two Our Fathers) I was screwed. I didn't have time to get dressed and eat breakfast. I went hungry. Instead of eating, I had to put on my new shoes, new dark blue navy pants, white shirt, and clip on blur navy tie. Even for church, I had to wear a goddamn uniform. (Just keep saying the Rosary for penance)

When we arrived at church, the nuns herded all the first communion kids into the back hall of the church. We were ready to demonstrate that after two months of practice, we could walk down the aisle in a single file line. (Very impressive. But you are not a Jedi Knight yet!)

A few minutes before the show got on the road, the nuns opened a small canister that contained the thin white wafer hosts. The nuns said these were un-blessed and were to be used as practice hosts. WTF! (A solid Act of Contrition please) Apparently, as the story went from the nuns, several years back, a first holy communion kid almost choked to death when he received his host from the priest because it stuck to the roof of his mouth and he panicked causing him to spit the body of Christ out of his mouth. Luckily, the altar boy caught the host with his paten (Plate) before the blessed host hit the ground.

Anyway, the nuns said we were to practice with these ones before we went live. Of course mine got caught on the roof of my mouth. I didn't spit it out though. I used my tongue to slowly move it and un-stick it from the roof of my mouth. (All you Catholics know exactly what I mean.)

A minute later, the main event was on. All of us slowly began our march up the church aisle hands folded in (Steeple prayer mode) and promptly took our place at the front of the church.

Thirty minutes later, it was our time. Ready to accept the body and blood of Christ for the first time. As I approached the altar and kneeled I made sure I didn't stumble or fall off the kneeler as I stayed perfectly still. The priest made his way down the altar like an assembly line worker. I could hear him saying over and over again, "The body of Christ," as if he were asking us a question not making a statement.

About two kids away, I thought about the body and blood of Christ and a moment of terror filled my mind. I forgot all about the "Blood" part. The bible story about Jesus changing water into wine popped into my head and I wondered if the practice water based host I had earlier would taste the same as the blood version. I was about to find out.

My turn was here. The priest approached me, whispered, "The body of Christ" and I correctly answered "Amen," opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue and received the host. I got up, returned to my pew, kneeled and said said my communion prayer.

I was now a full fledged Catholic. A member of the gang. I was wondering if I got to vote now on church hymns and Gospel passages. (I wasn't) Instead, I was treated to a first communion breakfast and afterward, I had a small family party, sort of like my birthday.

The next week, when communion time came, I strolled up with the rest of the adults, kneeled down and waited for the priest to come my way. Being the old pro I performed the ritual without a glitch. However, I was stuck at the kneeler. My right knee had slipped between the dividers and I was stuck. Damn! (Three Hail Mary's and three Our Fathers)

Using the railing I pushed with all my might and in doing so lost my balance and although I didn't hit the ground I looked like I was drunk doing the humpty dance trying to regain my balance. I got several snickers from the congregation and a death stare from my mother. Several nuns on the side also gave me the evil eye. Even out of school I was getting in trouble with the god damn nuns. (Five Hail Marys)

Next Sunday would be better. I swear!

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First Confession

I have been asked by many non-Catholic friends just what goes on inside the wooden stalls (Confessionals) in the back of the church. Breaking Vatican II protocol rules and regulations, (Section 3:13, Verse 8, line 5 that clearly state all Catholics must never reveal the ritual of one on one confession to non believers) I am here to expose the exact secret ritual of confession and what a Catholic child went through in those torture chambers (Confessionals) in the 1960's.

On the first day of second grade, 1966, the Nuns gleefully announced that this year would be an exciting year for all us Catholic school kids for we were all going to be introduced to the holy sacraments of confession and holy communion. of course, there would be plenty of studying, quizzes, tests, and eraser zingers (Nuns zipping hidden erasers at children who were talking or being bad) before we would realize these goals.

Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months as our First Confession lessons dragged on. We learned about the different levels of sin, (Venial and Mortal) and how sin affected our souls and the ability to enter the kingdom of heaven when we died. However, these lessons were redundant for all Catholics, for since birth, we are taught in tedious repetition on all aspects of the Catholic faith. We know what sins we can safely commit to keep us out of Hell. We've all been around the block.

After months of intense study, I was ready for my first confession.
But certainly not my last...

The week before our first confession, we had several practices, (Simulations) to make sure we all had our opening line, prayer, and kneeling technique down. I was suspicious of this for the nuns played the part of the priest and there was no way in hell I was ever going to tell the nuns my sins. (Hell, they have been keeping a permanent record of all my sins since birth anyway, why give them any more ammo to use against me?)

It was now Saturday morning which I learned was confession day which really sucked for now I had to go to church two days out of the week. I wasn't liking that at all. I asked my older brother George for any tips or advice before I stepped into the confessional box "Live" for the first time. George told me to disguise my voice when I told him my sins so the priest wouldn't recognize it the next in class. He also said never to give the priest your name. If he asked, give him someone else's name.

I asked if that was a sin, lying to the priest while in the confessional wondering if perhaps the space time continuum vortex would somehow converse at my exact coordinates but i was put at ease when George said the priest would rarely ask a kids name. Only if you did something really bad like murder, rob a bank, or pull a nuns habit off.

We arrived at church and all the second graders filed into the back of the church, (Quietly of course) and took our assigned seats in the pews waiting our turn to confess our sins. I noticed we were sitting alphabetically. Damn, the nuns had set us all up. All the priest would have to do to find the identity of a particular bad kid is ask the nuns who was 8th in line and the nuns cold match it up with their seating chart.

The priests on call for the day walked into the back of the church, told us all good morning, said a little prayer, and with bible in hand proceeded to their side of the confessional. The priests opened the confessional doors and a little white light turned on signaling to all us sinners that he was ready. I noticed that the priest was in the middle and could take two sinners at a time, one on each side. The 1960's was certainly showing signs of progress.

A moment later, a nod from the nuns signaled the first sinner, (Second grader) to enter. Like lambs to a slaughter, the girl slowly moved toward the confessional, slowly opened it, walked in and closed the door behind her. A few seconds later, a little red light appeared on the confessional door. That signaled that the sinner had activated the kneeler and was occupied.

The sinner was only in there for a few minutes, and I timed her by repeating the Act of Contrition (A prayer to be said after the priest heard your sins) in my head over and over. Saying it slowly, the average time was 5 AOC's (Acts Of Contritions) per kid. Some kids took longer, and we all knew that meant they had plenty of sins to confess. And so did the anxious parents watching their children.

At last, it was my turn. Remembering my lessons drilled into me for 8 months I was confident as I walked toward the confessional. I opened the door and sat down activating the red light. (It was dark in the confessional as the only light source was from the screen where the priest talked to you from) A minute or two passed by as the priest was finishing up with the other sinner on the left and then I heard the screen slide open and I was up.

Every Catholic knows what comes next, the BMF prayer. (Bless Me Father prayer) It is the prayer the sinner begins every confession with. For you non-Catholics, here is the prayer. Bless me father for I have sinned, this is my first confession. (The next time you went to confession, you would simply change up this line to, Bless me Father for I have sinned, it has been one week since my last confession)

At this time, you were required to confess your sins. I remembered to speak in a whisper so as not to announce to those outside my sins. However, I forgot to disguise my voice as my brother George told me to. For my sins, I started with, I lied to my parents. I lied to my brothers and sisters. I was mean to people. I skipped church. I threw some dinner food away. i swore. I used the Lord's name in vain. I looked at smut. (Playboy Magazines) Then I fell silent as I awaited for the priest to deliver my penance.

Being it my first confession, I believe the priest went easy on me. He told me that I should reflect on my sins and avoid them by praying more and helping out more at the church. He then told me to say 3 Our Fathers and 3 Hail Mary's for penance. He finished with Go in peace.

It was time for my very first "Live" Act Of Contrition. The prayer we practiced all year just for this day.

Act Of Contrition (1966 Version)
O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee.
And I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven,
and the pains of hell;
But most of all because they offend Thee, my God,
Who are all good and deserving of all my love.
I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace,
to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life.
Amen.

I had done it. Survived my first confession. The walls of the church did not crack as my parents had told me they would. Nor did the priest gasp with hearing hearing me confess such hideous sins. I walked out of the confessional all smug, with a clean slate, no sins on my soul. If I were to die that exact instant, I would go straight to Heaven. I admit, it was a good feeling. However, a feeling that wouldn't last long. I walked back to my assigned seat, kneeled, and said my penance and then sat down.

The entire process took about two hours. After the last child finished his penance, the nuns gave us the signal to stand, and we filed out single file and joined up with our parents.

In the car ride home, I had questions as my paranoia set in. What if I forgot to confess a sin or not explain my sins correctly to the priest? Would I still go to hell because of a technicality? Or would my permanent record simply add this omission as another sin, the sin of lying, and to a priest to boot? The good feeling I had leaving the confessional had now turned sour as I hoped that Dad wouldn't crash the car on the way home and kill me and with a sin on my soul. Damn, I was damned. And damn, I just sinned by thinking damn. I started seeing a pattern here.

Once in confession, after a pretty good week, I told the priest that
I had been pretty good and didn't have any sins to confess. The priest said, Vanity was my sin for believing I was good. My penance was to say 10 Our Fathers and 1o Hail Marys and of course a sincere Act Of Contrition.

After that, I felt I had to make some sins up, to insure the priest didn't think I was to vain. But of course, that was the sin of lying, in a confessional no less, and had no way of breaking this vicious cycle because we had to go to confession every Saturday whether we needed to or not.

Hence, since we had to go to confession on Saturday, all us smart Catholic kids would do our sinning on Friday so we would only carry the sins for one day. It was the risk we dared to take.

And now that the sacrament of confession was completed, First Holy Communion was next. I was ready!

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What Lies Beneath A Nuns Robe

Father O'Malleys Prayers Have Been Answered

What really lies beneath a nuns black robe.And you thought I was crazy for pulling the habit off my first grade teacher, sister Ann Teresa.

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Catholic Nuns Plotting My Eternal Damnation

His Permanent Record Is Almost Full

Catholic nuns smirking and gloating over my permanent record. Damn bitches were plotting my demise and eternal damnation to hell.

The Grassy Knoll Institute can now confirm that Catholic nuns in the 1960's were cooking the books making Catholic kids appear more sinful than they really were. The nuns, A/K/A crafty demons from hell, realized that they would be out of business and obsolete if the children were well behaved and well mannered. Perhaps being reassigned to more private church activities such as decorating the church for Easter and Christmas seasons and cooking and serving the spaghetti dinners. Certainly a notch down from the power they wielded teaching the grade school children.

But the nuns had an ace in the hole. The Permanent Record. The permanent record was the ammunition and control for the nuns. By simply doctoring the books, adding a mortal sin and few venial sins to each child's record, all Catholics took a giant step towards damnation. Nobody questioned the Nun Mafia. If a nun called the parents of a child informing them that said child was behaving badly, there was no discussion between parents and child, it commenced right to the beatings. This was the type of power that nuns of the 1960's had.

This is one of the main reasons that I vowed to bring the nun mafia to their knee's. (A place they've never been before) One child's quest, against a formidable foe, a modern day David and Goliath. My battle lasted eight long years and some say the nuns won, but some notice that today, nuns are almost extinct and will soon be on the endangered species list. I leave that evidence as my testament that I had won the battle.

Take that bitches.

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The Catholic Spelling Bee

The Setting: A typical Catholic grade school spelling bee tournament.
40 Children lined up against the lockers shoulder to shoulder in firing squad fashion. (With these nuns, you never wanted to give them that opportunity)
One nun sat at her desk holding a list of words while another nun patrolled the firing squad line making sure no student talked or attempted to cheat.
The nun at the desk would call out the next student in line: "David, spell the word 'Television'."
David speaks: "Television, T-E-L-E-V-I-S-I-O-N, television."
Nun at desk: "Correct David. Patrick, you are next. Spell the word "Antidisestablishmentarianism."
And that is how many spelling bee's I participated in went.

Except one. Every year, one student, a girl, named Maryellen, (A well known nun ass kisser) won the spelling Bee each year. The "Bee" was simply a formality as most students didn't even want to be in the police line up, (Bee line up) and it appeared that Maryellen got all the easy words to spell. If she would had graciously accepted the certificate without gloating, I wouldn't be writing this update. But she needed to be stopped.

Maryellen was rumored to prep for the spelling bee all year long and she would be hard to beat. I would need to be at the top of my game. I decided to actually study and rise to the occasion. I would defeat Maryellen and make her mad as hell. (Yea, that was my plan)

Next year's spelling bee came around and instead of getting purposely eliminated in round one, I actually tried for once. I got past round one, then round two, and finally it was just Maryellen and me. After several more tense rounds for Maryellen, she missed and went down. (Hey dirty minds, this was a Catholic school here) I was now the champion. I looked over at Maryellen and gave her a big "YEA!!" My mission was complete, and I proudly took my seat.

The next day sister Charlotte told me since I won the class spelling bee, I would be competing against the other class champions. And that winner would represent the school and compete in the district championship, and then to the state spelling bee. This sounded like a whole lot of work to me. All I wanted to do was smite Maryellen, (Which I did) and what do I get? I get nuns looking out for me, making sure I'm feeling OK and acting like they were now my personal body guards. I was in bizarro world.

I told sister Charlotte I didn't want to compete anymore. I just wanted to win my class. I told her to let Maryellen go instead. DENIED!!! She wouldn't have it.

After a week of being denied recess and instead having the nuns tutor me in spelling, I was ready for the school spelling bee. All 8 grades worth.....

After losing a week of recess, and knowing if I won this round, I would be practicing more and more with the nuns, I took action..... to save my soul and my sanity.

The day of the school Bee had come. All eight of us lined up in the church, from grade one through eight. We had a great turnout as the entire school was present to watch and listen to us spell words. (In reality, the students had no choice, we were more like inmates than students) When it was my turn, the nun gave me my word. I simply said I didn't know and then proceeded to sit down. I had taken about three steps when the nun stopped me.

She said for me to take a guess at the spelling of the word. I said no, I didn't know. The nun got angry and told me that I wasn't trying. I nodded and confirmed that she was correct for once. I wasn't trying, nor did I want to try. I had explained this to her a week earlier but sister Charlotte had selective hearing. So there we were....

The nun in charge gave me a disgusted glare, took a deep breath, and with a stern voice, commanded me to get back in line and spell the word given. So I simply said, "Apostle, (Which was the word, it was a Catholic school mind you) L-U-K-E, Apostle." The audience started laughing which infuriated the nuns.

The nun, following procedure to the letter, told me it was incorrect and then told me to sit down. I left the firing squad, err, police line up, err, spelling bee line and found a seat in the audience to cheers and clapping. No standing ovation as the nuns warned all of us that no one was to stand except for the eight kids in the contest. A dagger flying stare by the nuns silenced the crowd immediately.

Sometimes, the best laid plans for smiting goes terribly wrong. But what the hell, I kicked her ass in the bee and it was over now. Until I got home from school and my mother was waiting at the door. Yes, the son-of-a-bitch nuns had decided to make a call home to my mom to tell her how well I did at the spelling bee....

Can you spell spanking......

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Dare To Dream

Bullseye

For my entire 8 years of Catholic grade school I was hounded by Catholic nuns. When I came across this photo, I so wanted to do this many times as a student. Alas, I never had the chance or so help me, I would have loaded up.Please notice the accuracy of the snowballs being thrown. Its from all the practice the nuns have of hurling erasers at unsuspecting students sitting at their desks.....
These nuns had to be stopped and the Grassy Knoll Institute had just the plan to do it.

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My Catholic Permanent Record

The Grassy Knoll Institutes Permanent Record
The nuns had upped the ante and pulled a new term from their habits to combat us Catholic kids, especially me. After my run in with the "Noah's Ark" debacle I was informed that all my bad deeds were somehow being mysteriously recorded in my permanent record. The head nun, sister Charlotte, proceeded to tell me that I was in big trouble and that my permanent record was starting to fill up and that it was such a pity since I was so young.

What was this thing called My Permanent Record? I needed to know and needed to know quickly. This was a new wrinkle thrown at me by the nuns and I had to turn to my trusted sources to find a solution.

So, when I got home from school that day, I waited around until my older brother Jack came home. He would know the low down on the permanent record. I would have to pay the price however, but at this point, he was the lesser of the two evils.

My brother Jack did not disappoint. At first he looked bemused upon hearing my inquiry, sighed a moment or two, ran his hand through his hair, and then exhaled very slowly as if he was about to tell me the secrets of the universe. Jack lowered his voice to almost a whisper and said that the living room was not the place to discuss such topics as ones permanent record.

Of course the garage would be more appropriate. (What was I thinking?) Once in the garage, Jack began a ritual of looking under the cars, in the roof rafters, through the windows, and out the garage doors. Apparently spies were everywhere in 1967 and one couldn't be too careful discussing such topics as a Catholics permanent record.

Satisfied that no one was watching or listening, my brother Jack began spinning his tale as if he were rehearsing a work of literature. Homer, the author of "The Odyssey" had nothing on Jack. Jack began by saying that God created your permanent record and passed it down to the nuns to help keep track of all your sins. You see, God was really busy and only paid attention to the really bad people like bank robbers, murderers, and people that left church services before mass was over.

All the rest of the people, especially the children were to be monitored by the nuns. I looked on in disbelief and waited for some sign that he was kidding but he pressed on. Every time you sinned he continued, the nuns would record the sin in your record book and keep a running total. Then, when you died and went to the pearly gates to face Saint Peter, he would have all the ammunition he needed to send you to hell. Damn those nuns I thought.

Jack continued explaining in more detail. He told me that the people that had to many hits (sins) on their record were not permitted to get into Heaven. Instead, they had to go to a waiting place, a way station so to speak and once there, had to work off their sins until they were pure enough to enter the kingdom of Heaven. He said this place was called Purgatory. Jack said not to confuse Purgatory with the other place called Limbo, where all the little babies that weren't properly baptized had to go and had to wait to get into Heaven until a certain amount of prayers were said for them.

Jack also said that some people who were bad people and knew they were going to Purgatory were able to go to the Parrish priest and set up an account and start paying off the time they would spend in there. He said it was called paying an indulgence. This sounded like paying off a mortgage. Jack said that maybe I should open my account and start paying off my time. Jack then added his famous disclaimer that I was to tell no one of this conversation and if I did, he would deny it all the way to his deathbed. This I believed. Everything else was a little shaky at best.

Sadly, much of what Jack told me was true and only later did the church begin to dismiss such beliefs.

Armed with this knowledge, I began formulating my game plan for revenge. To begin, I wondered how the nuns knew when I was committing a sin when I wasn't in school. Did they have some sort of nun radar or sonar that would pick up my sin signals? And, how were they able to filter out all the sins being committed by all the kids in the Parrish? How did they know it was me and not Tommy from the next street? I had to know.

I had to somehow test the nuns. Then it came to me. My logic was so flawless that it even scared me. Mr. Spock would be very proud if he were able to show emotions. My test would be to sin on Monday morning, maybe say a bad word or two but not loud enough for my mother or father to hear, but say them nonetheless. Then I would be as good as possible on Tuesday. At the end of the day, I would walk up to the nun after class and ask in a meek and frightened tone if she or the other nuns had written anything in my permanent record for today for I was a little worried about what I had done earlier in the morning.

The trap was set. The nun took the bait, and leaned close to me and said that not only did she write several sins down in my record for today, but had also told Jesus in a prayer what I had done today. She was trying to lay it on thick, making me feel guilty for what I allegedly did earlier that morning. She thought that for once she had the upper hand and would relish in her good luck. Being the good Catholic that I was, I took the sermon from her and tried to look as somber and guilty as possible knowing full well that this nun was lying through her teeth.

Several minutes later, after the nuns jaw got sore flapping it at me, she stopped and said that I hope that I learned a lesson from all this. Slowly, painstakingly, I turned towards her, and in a low voice I lowered the hammer on her. I simply asked who kept a tally of the permanent records of all the nuns lies and sins? It was out there. I implied it. She knew it. Knew that I was aware that she had lied to me right then and that of course I had regained the upper hand.

We'll take this up with the Pastor first thing tomorrow morning young man was all the nun could muster to say.

I couldn't wait to get home that day. I wanted to tell my brother Jack what had transpired. I knew he would be proud of me. When Jack walked in the front door, I asked him to come to the garage for a moment. He knew I meant business. Once in the garage, I spilled the beans and told him the whole story. Jack was laughing and said that I did good but he had one problem with my story. He asked how did I know the nun was lying when she said she wrote down several things in my record book that day? After all, he said I did sin by conspiring against the nuns in the morning and then again by going through with my plan. Two sins, two entries in the record book.

Tomorrow would be a bad day at school.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Confetti Bandit Strikes Again

In the Grassy Knoll Institutes ongoing battle against Catholic nuns of the 1960’s, I came up with yet another ingenious plan to drive the nuns crazy. It was a simple stunt with no harm ever coming to any child, animal or property, but plenty of aggravation for the nuns. After all, fair is fair and the nuns needed a little dose to bring the score even.

My plan was simple, the execution quick, and the devastation monumental. The delivery method still posed a problem for I needed to be alone to deliver the package. I needed to think this out for I feared if any witnesses were present; the nuns would surely be able to squeeze that information from the spineless witness.

So I started mapping out the movements of the nuns each day and the daily lunch and recess period. I soon found a pattern I could use. When we finished our lunch, we then went out on the playground for 20 minutes. Child after child would file out one by one as they finished. For the first five minutes of lunch, when all of us were still eating, the nun in charge would get up, excuse herself, and then go and do nun things for 30 minutes while we ate.

I would get up when a few kids were left and instead of going outside, I would sneak down the hallway and into the bathroom. I would stay there for a couple of minutes and then back track back to my room. I would walk by casually and if no one was left in the room, I would re-enter the room and quickly go to my notebook and grab a few pieces of standard notebook paper making ever sure they were completely blank so as not to leave any incriminating evidence behind. I would then tear the paper into tiny little pieces and drop them into the overhead heater and air vents.

If perchance the motor was running pumping out air or heat during lunch, I would abort the mission and go outside. But, on that particular day, the vent motor was off, I shoved several sheets of confetti sized paper down in the four vents. The vents were screened so you couldn’t get your fingers stuck and also hid the paper from view.

Now, let me describe the vents for you. Each classroom had one wall that had our lockers on the bottom and very tall windows reaching the ceiling on top. There was a shelf alongside the entire wall about five feet tall. The windows were recessed so if anyone felt the urge to jump out, they would have to climb up the wall, and stand on the ledge, and then open the windows to climb out. This was also the area that housed the room heater and air circulator. You could not see down the vents as the screens obscured the view and it was pretty dark down there.

OK, back to the story. I quickly shoved the paper down the vents and then quickly exited the room and blended into the crowd with the rest of the kids on the playground. Then, all I had to do was wait. The recess bell rang and all the kids lined up in single file according to classroom and proceeded to file inside the school in an orderly fashion not saying a word. Wait. All I had to do was wait. And to my surprise, the wait would be mere minutes.

The nun in charge, feeling a chill, walked over to the heater and turned the switch on. My plan was implemented in a moment. The heater churned to life and in an instant tiny confetti paper shot out and up scaring the hell out of the nun. The nun actually gasped and jumped back as if the confetti was stinging her. The entire class roared with laughter for almost a minute until the nun got her wits about her and turned off the switch to the heater. My plan had worked perfectly and only later would I realize that there was an added bonus.

As all nun investigations go, this one would be long and drawn out making the Spanish inquisition seem like a short movie at the Caans film festival. The janitor was summoned to clean out the heater and examine any remaining evidence. Which, by the mess on the floor, was minimal at best. The nuns started out tough, claiming that after examining all the evidence, they knew the child responsible. The nuns were staring directly at me as they spoke in unison. Damn that nun radar. But I was safe. There were no witnesses, no evidence to link me, I was in the clear baby.

The nuns gave us one last chance to fess up before they called the parents for the one responsible. No one fussed up. No one dared. Silence from the kids and the nuns. After five more minutes of silence, and the bonus that no lessons were being taught in class and finally the nuns spoke again. A firm speech that God saw the child that did this terrible thing and it was the Catholic thing to do to confess their sin. No freakin way baby.

Another nun appeared in the room, now there were three of them, almost a gaggle, and they quickly huddled and then called alphabetically one by one each child out into the hallway to interrogate them. The door slammed as two nuns were now in the hall and one nun stayed to observe our mannerisms. I heard yelling, big time yelling and ranting about heart attacks, Jesus, mortal sin, and other intimidation tactics used on second graders of Catholic school.

My name was called sixth, and the nuns really tried to brow beat me. I simply took the tirades in stride knowing I had beaten the nuns this time. I was returned to my seat unscathed but a little hard of hearing. Each child had a turn with the dueling nuns but still no one confessed.

Frustrated, the nuns gave up but continued their inquisition for three days till finally they announced that even though they knew who the culprit was, they were not going to single him/her out. They were going to make the culprit have to live with the terrible mortal sin on their soul until they confessed it to the priest in confession on Friday.

So, that was their ploy, their way of extracting information. Let the priests do the dirty work and then sing like stool pigeons to the nuns of the crimes we confessed. No way was I going to fess this one up even knowing that I was endangering my mortal soul and if perchance I would die, I would go straight to hell. I would have to be careful playing outside until I could visit a neighboring church and go to confession there so as not to divulge my identity. I carried that sin on my soul for two weeks. Damn the nuns to hell.

The confetti bandit struck several more times that year and the nuns never did catch me on this one. After I graduated from grade school and in the safe harbor of high school, I sent the nuns a letter from the confetti bandit letting them know that I was still on the loose and that some day I would pass down my knowledge to my children and that the bandit would be reborn.

I knew the nuns would be ready...

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Managing Venial And Mortal Sins

How To Manage Venial And Mortal Sins

From the dawn of the 1960's to the 7th year of the third Millennium. My, my, my, how times have changed. Especially the Catholic faith.

I learned a lot about my religion while growing up Catholic in the 1960's. From the Nuns that taught and sometimes fought the students to the priests that looked more like Dracula than your ordinary Padre. One of the most important lessons was the topic of sin. Mortal and Venial sins to be exact and how they affected our souls and the consequences we would have to accept if we were so unlucky to die carrying a mortal sin on our souls.

I present to you the whirlwind tour of the Catholic faith as taught to me in the 1960's by some pretty mean and intimidating nuns.There are two types of sin. Venial sin and Mortal sin. Yea, there is the original sin we are all born with but basically, there are only two.

A Venial sin is an offense against God that will not hinder your chances of getting into Heaven when you die. An example is:

Mother: Patrick, did you break our neighbors basement window?

Patrick: No mother, it wasn't me. It was Jack who broke the window.

A Mortal Sin is more serious and thus certain conditions must apply for a mortal sin to be committed. Three conditions need to be present. They are, The sin must be deliberate, with full knowledge that it is wrong, and it must be a grave matter. An example is:

Prosecutor: And I will show that the defendant willfully, knowingly, with premeditation, murdered the victim.

Patrick: No, it wasn't me. It was Jack who did it.

With this knowledge, you are now ready to understand the Catholic psyche and all our idiosyncrasies.

I was taught that divorce was a mortal sin and if you got a divorce you would go straight to hell. No passing go, no collecting $200.00. Unless you were the winning spouse in divorce court. Apparently, half of the population is destined for hell for the big D reason alone. Some say marriage was hell on Earth so what could the devil really do to you?

I was taught that babies that died before they were baptized went to a place called Limbo. Parishioners than had to go to church and pray for their lost souls and offer up indulgences to help the babies get to heaven.

I was taught that if you had a mortal sin on your soul and you died you went straight to hell. No questions asked. That was a heavy responsibility as a child. Knowing that you had your soul's fate in your hands, I made damn sure that I looked both ways when crossing the street so I wouldn't wind up in hell holding a mortal sin getting creamed by a car.

I was taught that intercourse was strictly for procreation. Any other reason and you went right to the hot spot. And I don't mean the G spot.

I was taught that premarital sex was a mortal sin and if you participated in this heinous mortal sin then you would go straight to hell when you die.

I was taught that people who had venial sins on their soul when they died went to purgatory, a sort of waylay station to heaven. These people would have to stay there until enough people prayed for them or offered indulgences (otherwise known as money in an envelope) to help these poor saps get into the kingdom of heaven.

I was also taught that you could begin paying off your purgatory time while still on Earth. Not by prayer, but by an extra envelope in the Sunday collection plate. The more money, the less time in Purgatory. Sort of like paying off a retirement home mortgage.

I was taught that you couldn't eat for at least an hour before you accepted holy communion. Then they changed it. I guess I missed that amendment of the bible. Sounds awfully like the old standard wait an hour after you eat to go back into the swimming pool.

I was taught that God was everywhere, knew everything, was all powerful, and all loving. But damn, don't question the nuns about it.

I was taught that my confirmation was me standing up as an adult and accepting Christ as my God.

I was taught by the nuns that we all had a guardian angel that looked after us and reported back to God and the nuns when we did bad things. One day, the nuns even told us to introduce ourselves to our guardian angel. We all looked to our right and said hello to our guardian angel. Expecting an answer, the class all continued to stare to the right in hopes of hearing a return greeting. All except Angelo who sat in the back. He was already carrying on a conversation with his guardian angel like he was an old friend. (Yes, the same Angelo that got stung by all the bee's)

I was taught that if I asked questions about bible stories such as Adam and Eve and Noah's Ark, I would get whisked down to the principals office in a heartbeat. When the nuns did not have an answer, you were in big trouble for it made it seem that the nuns didn't know everything there was to know about the Catholic religion.

I was taught that God was three people, God the father, the son, and the holy ghost. The holy ghost got updated to holy spirit around 7th grade. I asked if God was three people before he sent his son Jesus to earth to save our souls. I was whisked off to the principals office.

I was taught that Catholics could only marry other Catholics. If you married outside of the church, it was a mortal sin giving you a red eye ticket to hell, and you were excommunicated from the church meaning you could no longer receive the holy sacraments. (Many of my neighbors and friends were destined for hell for sure on this one.)

I was taught that an angel came to Mary and Joseph and told them that they were going to have the Christ child. They were not married to one another. That line of questioning earmarked another trip to the principals office for me.

I was taught that going to confession and telling the priest your sins and then saying a few Hail Mary's and Our Fathers and our soul would be set free and clear. Now if we died, we would go straight to heaven. This is why most Catholic children did most of their sinning on Friday knowing full well that on Saturday we would be whisked off to confession to get a new clean slate. I figured that I could take the chance of several mortal sins and a full line of venial sins for a day or two. Again, just keep the ever watchful eye out when crossing the street.

I was taught that it was your obligation to go to mass every Sunday. Then it was changed to Saturday afternoon as long as it was after 4PM. I missed that amendment to the bible as well. If you didn't make it to church, you would receive a mortal sin.

For us Catholics, God works in mysterious ways indeed.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

All Catholics Are Right Handed

A little back story on my trials and tribulations battling Catholic nuns in the 1960's. As you know, I went to a Catholic grade school. In first grade, we learned how to print the alphabet and then to print words with big blue pencils. I remember the nuns getting this strange device that held 6 pieces of chalk in some sort of metal and wood handle and she would make perfect straight lines, six at a time across the entire chalk board. Then, one by one, each student, (inmate) would be asked to go to the blackboard, (Actually, the boards were green) and print their full name and address on the board. My writing was just atrocious.

No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't stay within the lines. The nuns would get frustrated with this and scold me and warn that I better improve lest I want to go and see the principal. What was she going to do? Help me with my printing? DOUBT IT!

Anyway, the days turned into weeks and my writing skills did not improve and the inevitable phone call to my parents was now reality. My parents were called about the "problem" and was suggested they take me to a "Specialist" to work on my writing skills.

My parents pulled out my kindergarten papers and and compared them to what I was doing in first grade and noticed that indeed my writing had gotten worse. My dad asked bluntly if I was screwing up on purpose, (He knew I was a troublemaker) and I told him that no, I wasn't. I was really trying hard. I didn’t want the nuns yelling at me because I couldn’t stay inside the perfectly drawn chalk lines. I wanted them yelling at me for something fun I did to piss them off.

At this time, I asked my dad a question about Catholics. I asked dad why Catholics are only right handed. He looked puzzled and inquired why I would ask such a question. I proceeded to explain that on my first day of school the nuns showed everyone how to print the alphabet with our big blue pencils. Then they asked every child to print their name on the black board.

When I picked up the chalk and started printing my name with my left hand, the nuns said to only use my right hand. Sister Charlotte said that all Catholics are right handed and that this training would be invaluable when I went to second grade and learned to write instead of print. For in writing, I would have to tilt my paper and my letters, and I needed to be right handed to do so. What the hell did I know? I was freakin six years old.

My dad was silent. He looked lost. He asked me to repeat what I just said. He then asked if I was lying to him. One thing I learned at a very early age was to never lie to my father. He didn’t like that. I tried a few lies on him before and my punishment was swift and precise. Remind me to tell you about the belt episode at a later blog entry.

Well, my mother was called in to the living room and I repeated the story to her. I was then handed a pencil and paper and asked to print my name and address. With my left hand, I did pretty darn good. With my right, it was awful. I was then told to go get lost and play with my brothers.

My father drove me to school the next day and dropped me off at the front door. He said he had some business with the principal and he would see me when I got home from school. Although I didn’t hear the conversation my father had with Sister Eileen, I could well imagine it. I don’t think it was much of a conversation anyway, more of a, look here, there is how its going to be from now on sister conversation….My father was very persuasive.

Anyway, from that day forward, all Catholics were right handed, except for me, who apparently had special dispensation from the Pope letting me print left handed. All the children gasped as I walked up to the black board and actually printed using my left hand. Some thought I wasn’t really Catholic. I believe this may have been the birth of my loathsome attitude towards the nuns as they would now belittle every little nuance of my printing. I believe they were mad that I was left handed.

Funny thing is though, that yes I was left handed, but also right handed. In third grade, I switched writing back to right handed. I hated getting that lead all over my hands as I dragged my pencil over the paper writing. I was afraid of the lead after my brother Jack told me that I could die from lead poisoning if to much pencil dust got onto my skin. Damn him.

The nuns now had a chip on their shoulders, and I was just the kid to knock it off time and time again. They would never see it coming, they were expecting it from the right and I attacked from the left……

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

The Holy Trinity

Catholic grade school, second period, religion class, 1967

I was seated third row, front seat, the most dreaded seat in the class. It was situated right in front of the nuns desk. Whoever sat there had zero wiggle room for any type of shenanigans.

There I was, starring down the nun teaching the class about the Holy Trinity. Catholic faith believes that God is three people, yet only one. There is God the Father, The Son, and the Holy Ghost. (Holy Ghost got upgraded to Holy Spirit late in the 60's) The Father sent his Son, Jesus, to earth so he could die for our sins and save the people. The Holy Ghost went along for the ride to give Jesus guidance and advice. Thus, the mystery of the Holy Trinity.

Then something struck me as odd. I had a question but pretty much knew that the nuns would acknowledge my hand in the air knowing that my questions were never easy ones. Yet I had to try. Up went my hand even before the nun asked if there were any questions signaling the end of the lesson. I guess it took the nun off guard and immediately whirled around, saw my hand raised, and said, "Yes Patrick, do you have a question?"

I was shocked myself but the opening was there. Feeling saucy I went for the jugular straight away. I asked before God sent his Son Jesus to earth, was God only two people. Just God the Father and the Holy Ghost. And only became three people after Mary, the holy Mother gave birth to Jesus. There, that'll oughta hold the nun for awhile.

Well, I wouldn't be sitting in row three, first chair anymore that day. The nun immediately moved towards me, making a beeline straight at me. Yes, another visit to the principles office. She grabbed me by the back of my shirt and hoisted me right out of the chair. As if by magic in mere seconds, I was in the office.

Several minutes passed as the nuns looked on seeing if I would crack. Hell, they held onto their faith, but I would not crack. The principle yelled, (Yes, actually yelled) for me to step in her office. Same routine here, I was to explain why I was there. I told her the story, and the sister looked on with a puzzled face. Then she spoke in a monotone voice saying that God was always three people and only chose to send his Son, who was already a part of the Holy Trinity. I then asked if Jesus was already a part of the Trinity, then how was he born to the virgin Mother Mary?

Yes guessed it. I won a call home to my parents.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Altar Boys Secret Society

The Altar Boys Secret Society Part I

I had survived the Flute-O-Phone Spanish Nunquistion as not a single student cracked under the intense pressure and squealed on me, or themselves for that matter. Life was getting good. Time to venture into new avenues.

My buddy told me about a pretty good gig that would allow me to get out of school for hours at a time. Get out of school!!! That's all I needed to hear. He told me all I had to do was sign up to be an Altar boy. Anything to get out of harms way of the nun's wrath I thought.

Note to all non Catholics out there reading. An Altar boy was an assistant to the priest when he was saying mass. The Altar boy's duties ranged from holding the cross and leading the procession to bringing up the water and wine to the priest as he proceeded to move through the mass. Basically, the Altar boy was an indentured servant.

Ok, back to the story. Amazingly, it was easy to join the altar boys. There were no tests to take. No secret handshakes to learn and no secret password to get into the back of the church where everyone that is in the loop knows that is where all the action is.

That same day during my lunch break I went to see Father Iatti to inform him that he had a new recruit for the Altar boy army. Past the principles office I glided and down the steps to the Sacristy where Father Iatti's office was. Tapping ever so gently on the office door I entered the office slowly, (My spider senses were tingling) nervously looking about preparing myself to be yelled at. You see, a Catholic student never willingly went to see the priests.

The children were sent there by the nuns for more severe punishment apparently only available for the priests to inflict. So, this was a very unusual circumstance, especially for me, walking in to the office of my own free will instead of being dragged there by the nuns. This time I wanted to use my powers for good instead of evil and the priest would immediately sense this.

In reality, that didn't happen. Instead, Father Iatti came into the office, saw me sitting in the chair, and began to rant and rave at me yelling something about calling my mother and that I was in big trouble this time. He then went into his native tongue, which was Italian, and blurted out several more sentences before finally asking me what I had to say for myself. I almost confessed to whatever he was ranting about. He then said, "Well, I'm waiting. Why are you here?" I told him that I wanted to become an Altar boy and was ready to sign up and help the church. I figured that revelation would humble him a bit, quiet him down just a little after yelling at me for no reason at all. I could also see two prominent veins that appeared on his forehead and if perchance they somehow met, I imagined his head would explode. Yes, I know it would be cool to see, and I had a front row seat, but it would be messy but then I would not be inducted into the altar boy guild, or society, or club, whatever.

Fact was, I was offering my services to the church, to serve God, to help him. I waited for the apology but never got it. Instead, Father Iatti became a police inspector and began interrogating me like I was a criminal. Crimony, all I wanted to do was join the Altar boys. This was turning out to be more bother than I expected.

My answers did not satisfy Father Iatti and he continued the brow beating. Ten more minutes went by and still I was not inducted into the Altar boy guild and now my entire recess lunch break was over. What a gip. Not only did I waste my lunchtime, I was getting a lecture and the once over for doing absolutely nothing this time. Then it dawned on me. I was now missing class as the students entered the school in single file from the playground completely silent not daring to utter a peep while in line. This was OK. Let Father Iatti rant and rave at me. It wasn't like I wasn't used to it by now. Four years so far in Catholic school had hardened my nerves and resolve. Nothing could penetrate the fortress.

Then, like a bad dream, Father Iatti stopped his tirade and told me to return to class and that we would discuss this matter further during tomorrows lunch break. This was unacceptable. I had already wasted one recess period and I wasn't about to waste another. I had to move quickly before this got more out of hand then it was. I slowly got up out of my chair, sighed lowly and announced that maybe I wasn't cut out to be an Altar boy after all. Even though both of my older brothers were, maybe I wasn't good enough. I then turned to the door averting my eyes from Father Iatti and began to leave.

Then it happened. Father spoke. He said in a very low tone that there was an Altar boy meeting Friday morning right before first period and that I was invited to attend. He said the meeting was to discuss the Altar boys duties and to introduce several new members of which I was now one. I said thanks and ran out the door and hurried to class so as to not be late and risk the wrath of the nuns for being tardy.

I was in. A made man. An Altar boy. A license to skip school virtually almost every day. Life was good. I couldn't wait for Friday.

But of course, there was a glitch. A glitch that I didn't consider. Thinking only about being able to miss school while serving early morning mass each weekday, I failed to realize that I would also be responsible for serving mass on Saturdays and Sundays. And since I was the rookie, I would be getting the lousy very early morning mass schedules on the weekends. Now this sucked but the wheels were already in progress and Friday was approaching quickly.

I needed a plan. But that is another Altar boy story, another legend. Stay tuned for the update.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

God Is All Powerful

I had won my first battle with the Catholic Nuns when out of fear and further reprisals the nun I had yanked down to the ground succumbed and showed me what was under her habit. I was on a roll.

Now, I had bigger fish to fry. It began in religion class. Being a curious fellow, I had many questions when the nuns explained to me and the class that God was all knowing, and all powerful, and can see and hear everything that you do. So you better not lie, better be good, and better listen to the good Nuns.

To me, this sounded a lot like the Santa Claus story. You know the one, "He see's you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake". Well, as my older brother once put it, I was bad all last year and Santa still brought me lots of presents. Seizing the opportunity to attack, I began to ask the nuns questions. I started off easy so as to not draw attention or the ire of the nuns to my ultimate goal.

First question was.... If God already knows if you are going to be bad or good, then what's the point in being good? If God knows, it doesn't matter if I'm good or bad. Right? Well, the nuns look puzzled and huddled up. The stately one, Sister Charlotte, took the point and explained to the class that God gave us all the freedom to make those choices for ourselves and that it's entirely up to us to make those decisions. OK, good answer I thought but lets see if she can field this question.

Second set of questions...So, if God doesn't know what decision I'm going to make then he isn't all knowing is He? The nuns went crazy. They were mad. Much like a stirred up hornets nest. Their were nuns buzzing all over the hive. (Classroom) In the blink of my eyes, I was whisked up by my shirt collar and taken (Dragged) to the principles office yet again. I was told to sit in the waiting room chair and wait until the Pastor came in. Several minutes later he arrived and he and the nuns had a little huddle. All I heard was whispering and some words like God, smart Alec, habit, trouble maker, Irish kid, and the sorts.

They broke huddle and the Pastor had a one on one talk with me. He asked me why I would ask such questions. being the good honest Catholic kid that I was, I told him the truth. Well, part of it anyway. I told him about the Santa Claus tie in and how it sounded hust like God's powers. He almost chuckled and smiled at me. He then gave me some mumbo jumbo and sent me back to the nuns never really answering my original question. HA! I had again escaped Capital punishment. I was on a roll. Not even a call to my parents on this one.

Life was good. I was escorted back to the classroom and sat down with a feeling of smugness that I was beginning to enjoy. But only for a short while. The nuns explained to me that during my absence we had a test and since I was not present, that I had failed that test and that a note to my parents would be mailed home. At that moment, I made eye contact with the nuns letting them know that a line had been drawn in the sand and it was now war, and that I was playing to win, and that I would.

I waited a week or two to let things calm down to draw suspicion away from me, and then I asked my next question.

If Adam and Eve......Well, that is another story.....

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Catholic Nun Habit

Sister Mary left Hook

  Grassy Knoll Institute Verses 1960's Catholic Nuns.

The Alpha-Omega. It was 1965, September, Youngstown, Ohio. Little did I realize that my battle with a pack of wild Catholic nuns would begin the moment I stepped into the classroom in first grade. The battles would be epic against this black robed gang and now after 40 plus years, these tales can finally be revealed.

The era in which I speak of was the 1960's. When Nuns were Nuns. Not like they are today. But mean, nasty, sneaky, and vicious, with goddam excellent aim.

Back in 1965, during first grade, there was one particular nun named Sister Ann Teresa. She was our teacher. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, which was really old to my six year old standards. Sister Teresa, like all the other nuns that I ever saw, came dressed in the exact same uniform of the day. They were all were dressed in black robes. Perhaps skirts or dresses, but they looked like robes. The robes had very deep pockets enabling the nuns to conceal chalk board erasers and other dangerous projectiles. All the nuns had Rosary beads looped around their waist dangling on the right side. All the nuns wore black shoes and stocking or socks.

And of course they all had that same hat that they wore. It was called a habit. The habit looked like a black flat hat that covered the nuns entire head with a thick white collar wrapping around their forehead. A veil topped off the ensemble and covered all the nuns hair. Hell, you couldn't even see the nuns ears.

But let me tell you. They could hear better than dogs. Dare to talk in class and be prepared to absorb the wrath of the nuns. Usually, when a nun would hear talking or other sins against humanity they would take immediate action. The nun would spin around and fire a chalk board eraser in one fluid motion at your head. Nine out of ten times, it would connect. The one time it would miss the target, it would smack an unsuspecting innocent bystander sitting next to you in the head. Those were the only times I ever saw a nun smile. When they were hurling projectiles at your head.

Anyway, as the school year progressed, I started to become obsessed to know the secrets that lie beneath the nun habit. Was there another pair of eyes under there? A listening device of some sort? More erasers? I had to know what was under there. I began to devise a plan to unlock the secrets and remove the habit from the nun.

After weeks of planning, I set my plan in motion never to look back again. On that fateful day, as we were coming in from recess, I got in behind Sister Ann Teresa and followed her until we almost reached our room. Then, I did it. With one swift fast motion, I grabbed the back of her habit at the base and yanked as hard as I could. I awaited the treasures.

Instead, I was shocked to see that instead of removing the habit, I actually had pulled the nun off her feet and flat down on her back. Little did this six year old realize that the habits were attached to the nuns head by an intricate pattern of bobby pins and hair clips. Hurricane winds would not remove the habit.

My immediate impulse was to flee. And so I did. Down the hall with all the other children looking on in awe. I could hear the other children faintly saying, "He's in for a paddling now." Just like in all horror movies, I should have never looked back for there was Sister Ann Teresa behind me, gaining ground with every second. Joining in the chase were several other nuns, some of them remarkably fast. I now had a gaggle of nuns in hot pursuit. Down the one hall I ran and up the steps to the other. I had no idea where I was going except to out run the nuns. In a minute, I was finally cornered by the pack of nuns. I was surrounded. I wanted to blurt out, "You'll never take me alive," but instead, in a very shrill voice, I said, "I'm sorry Sister. I just wanted to see what was under there!"

I received absolutely zero sympathy from the nuns. One nun grabbed my arm and led me to the principles office who also happened to be another nun. A conspiracy indeed. I would not be getting a fair trial on this day. I was escorted to the inner sanctum of the office and told me to sit quietly and stay still.The nun seemed to take great pleasure in calling my parents in front of me telling them about the heinous crimes I committed against Christ and of the many hours of detention in church I would begin serving immediately. I was then released and led slowly back to my class room where I quietly took my seat never making eye contact with the substitute nun in charge of the room at the time.

On the bus ride home that day, all the buzz was about me and how I knocked a nun down and dragged her through the halls and all that. Even the older kids came over to get a good look at me. For about a week, I was a celebrity, one to be reckoned with, one to stay out of his way, until, one day, another kid got stung by a hundred or so bees that he was bothering with a stick at the top of the play ground during recess. I passed the torch to Angelo, the bee keeper. A week later, Sister Ann Teresa did take five minutes at the beginning of the day to show us what was actually under her habit. At her unveiling, I was mildly disappointed. There were no extra eyes, ears, erasers, ammo, or secret tools of the nun clan. Just a bunch of long brown hair.

The conspiracy cover up had begun.....

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LURKING RELIGIOUSLY ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

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