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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Irish Catholic Confession Penance

Making Poteen (Moonshine) is a sin in Ireland.
This fella goes to confession and gets the newly appointed priest. The fella begins, bless me father for I have sinned, I have made 8 gallons of poteen.

The new priest, unaware of what the penance for poteen (Moonshine) is in this parish, tells the gentleman to hold on a second and he'll be right back. The young priest leaves the confessional, walks into the sacristy where the Bishop is half asleep and says, "This fella in the confessional made 8 gallons of poteen, what should I give him?" The Bishop says, "Give him two pounds a gallon and not a penny more."

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

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LURKING, ERIN GOES BRALESS ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

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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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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Pre-Cana Marriage Classes

Pre-Cana Marriage Preparation Conference

The Pre-Cana Marriage Preparation Conference is for engaged couples planning to be married in the Catholic Church and referred by the priest/deacon or marriage coordinator. A full day is created which will enable you to have an opportunity to discuss honestly with each other your strengths and weaknesses in family living, communication, finances, Christian sexuality, the Sacrament of Matrimony and your role in the Church and society.

Doesn't sound so bad, until you actually go to the conference. My wife Patty and I went 6 months before we were to be married. We went begrudgingly to satisfy our Parish priest. Our Pre-Cana was not a conference but a series of classes.

Part One, The Meet And Greet.

Patty and I arrived at the church rectory and waited patiently for Father Vince to enter. Soon father Vince entered and we all sat around his desk engaging in some small talk. Father seemed to want to get right down to business. He began by explaining that he would be asking questions that would give him some insight into our lives and the ability to evaluate the strength of our love and dedication to one another.

Part Two. The Envelope.

The very first question asked was how much money I made each month. I looked over at Patty and replied, "I make enough". This did not satisfy our priest. Again, he probed, saying it was important to talk about finances to prevent unforseen money problems. I politely replied that we had discussed finances and both of us were in agreement that we could live on our salaries comfortably. We understood about utility bills and that I have been living away from my parents for a while and knew about rent payments, cable TV, and food bills.

Once again, father Vince said that he needed to know how much money I made so that he could evaluate our finances for himself. At this point, I became a little agitated, knowing where his questioning was leading. He wanted to know how much I made so he could calculate his cut for the Sunday envelope offering. I told father Vince that it was none of his business and to move on with the interrogation, err...questions.

Part Three. The Test.

After surviving the financial part, the next part had to be a breeze. What could be worse? I would soon find out. Father Vince said we were now going to take a compatibility test. Patty would take her test in the waiting room down the hall and I would stay with father Vince in his office and take mine there. I was thinking 10-20 questions. WRONG! This test had 300 questions. Everything from finances, furniture taste, to what we would name our children.

Several hours later, I had finished and wouldn't you know, Patty had to and walked in as I was bringing my test booklet to fathers desk. We were told to talk amongst ourselves while he graded our tests. Now I was pretty confident for I was a pretty good test taker and Patty said she knew all the answers right away. A little while later and father Vince began to speak. His tone was very stearn and direct. He said that in all his years conducting these classes, he had never seen test results such as ours. Out of all 300 questions, we didn't miss a single one. We had answered exactly the same. I was feeling pretty good at this time thinking that our test scores spoke volumes of our compatibility and that we were perfect for each other. Then the magic was broken. Father Vince asked if I had cheated. Taken about, I said how could I have with him sitting in the same room as me. He simply couldn't accept that we had tested perfect.

Part Four. The Second Session.

As our first class concluded, father Vince shocked me when he said that there would be four more sessions to prepare us for marriage and that we were to meet back at the rectory next week. The discussion would be on living together as a married couple and sharing responsibilities.

I could see that the battle lines had been drawn. I had to go on the offensive. No way could I survive another class. I quickly lept in and pointed out that as a priest, father Vince really had no perception on married life since he lived as a bachelor his entire life. I saw the opening and continued. I added that since my parents were married for many years and had seven children that I should be asking them for marriage advice instead of from a bachelor who has no bills and lives in a house paid for by the church. Father Vince sensed my advantage and slowly backed off. This would be the last class we would attend.

Part Five. The Departure And The Irony.

Two weeks before we were to be married, father Vince had a lapse in faith and decided to leave the church. He then quickly got married and moved out of the area. I was sort of hoping that he would have to go through the same Pre-Cana classes that Patty and I had to endure. I think I would have put a little extra in the Sunday plate if I could have seen that!

PS. We are going strong on 22 plus years of wedded bliss. I guess the test scores were correct.

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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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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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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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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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Pope Benedict XVI Announces Radical Changes

In his morning mass this Sunday, Pope Benedict XVI announced to the Vatican congregation that radical changes to the Catholic clergy will be immediately implemented. Beginning this day, all priests will be permitted to take a wife as well as all nuns will be permitted to have a husband. These changes are meant to increase the number of men and women to the calling of the priest hood and nunnery.

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL