Catholic School Special Talent Day

At my Catholic school in the 1960's, there was what the nuns called "Special talent day." Basically, talent day was a thinly disguised ruse run by the nuns to gather what special skill sets each child possessed outside of the norm. (Apparently if a nuclear war broke out, the nuns wanted to know what students to save to guarantee survival and what students to leave behind)

One morning, Sister Mary Francis announced to the class that the upcoming Friday would be special talent day. On Friday, each student would be asked (Told) to go to the front of the class and reveal what special talent they possessed. My mind wandered to the league of super heroes, and what super power I would like to have. Flying would be ultra cool but invisibility would always win out to my perverted mind. (Walking into the girls locker room without being seen, how cool would that be?)

Anyway, Friday came slowly and child by child was called to the front of the class for their special talent. One nun brown noser student sang. (Let there be peace, a religious tune, go figure)

One student, Kevin, danced an authentic Irish jig. It was hilarious. He was the original Michael Flatley, Riverdance king.

One girl, brought in drawings and paintings she drew. I have to admit, they were pretty good for a 3rd grader.

A couple of students performed gymnastics, a few flips, jumps and leaps. I was secretly hoping for them to fall or crash into the nun. None of them did. (Damn!)

Some played musical instruments. The drums, guitar, clarinet, and one played the flute-o-phone. It was going to be difficult to follow this diverse group of talent.

My name was called next. I was just your normal everyday Joe. I had no special talents. God knows I couldn't sing, dance, or play an instrument. At that moment I wish I had given this assignment a little more thought before now. Then it dawned on me. I remembered back in first grade, when we all learned how to print with big boy and big girl pencils. I would use that lesson to my advantage. I was going to dazzle the students and impress the hell out of the nuns.

I confidently walked to the black board, took a piece of chalk in my right hand and asked a student to say aloud any sentence that came to their mind. I immediately wrote it down on the black board. Now here is the special talent. I then switched the chalk to my left hand and wrote the same sentence underneath the one I wrote with my right hand. The writing looked identical.

Time for a little back story. In the 1960's, at Catholic grade school, all students were considered right handed. From day one in first grade, the nuns instructed us in right handed printing only. I was left handed and was having problems with my writing. I wasn't really ambidextrous, but no one needed to know that. See this link for the back story. All Catholics Are Right Handed

Gasps were heard from the kids seated in class. It was a show stopper folks. No one including the nuns ever saw someone that could write left and right handed. Sister Mary Francis stopped and asked me where I learned how to do that trick, to write left handed. I told her the trick was to learn to write right handed and that she was looking at a real life left handed Catholic.

Special Talent day was over for me that day as I was sent to wait in the principal's office.

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Anatomy Of A Catholic Mass

I have been asked by many non-Catholics just what goes on during a Sunday mass. Being a former Altar Boy, I think I can amply field this question.

To the naked eye and non believers, it appears that Sunday mass is nothing more than a very upscale exercise program. You see a lot of standing, sitting, standing, sitting, kneeling, singing, standing, sitting, and walking. (A regular aerobic exercise) (They should charge for the workout. Get your heart and soul fit with the Lord)

But to the trained observer (Me) and Catholic parishioners, there really is a method to the madness. As always, to understand, we must start at the beginning.

Catholic mass can be broken down into 5 segments.
1) Intro
2) Damnation
3) Fire and Brimstone
4) Feast
5) Outro

The Intro, or introduction of the mass, is a very important part. This part determines the length of the mass by what priest is running the show. A Parrish usually has 2-3 priests in the collective and each one has their own style and pace to say mass. Depending on your luck of the draw, you could be in for a 20 minute, 45 minute, or 75 minute or more service. (No matter the length, at this point everyone is standing.)

How the priest begins mass tells you everything you need to know how long the mass will be. The long version introduction begins with the priest, altar boys, deacon, and a member of the congregation carrying the good book. They all gather at the back of the church and make a grand entrance with organs blazing. It's sort of like a parade, just one you don't want to go to.

The cross bearer altar boy leads the way, followed closely by the good book carrier, then a short distance behind are the altar boy servers, then the deacon, usually in a beard and robe, and lastly, the priest slowly walking up the center church aisle taking his place on the altar facing the congregation as we belt out one of the classics.

The medium version is less drawn out. There is no book hauler, no deacon, no cross bearer, just two altar boys and the priest. The medium mass has the procession coming from the side entrance, a much shorter distance, hence, a much shorter hymn. The altar boys walk in front of the priest and all three walk immediately up to the altar.

The short version is quicker yet. There is no procession and no hymn. Just a short blast from the organ and as if by magic, the priest and altar boys seem to appear on the altar and the mass begins straight away. (Usually, there is an entrance behind the altar that the priest and altar boys come out from. No trap doors or smoke screens like magicians use)

Each priest would then stay in long, medium, or short mode for the rest of the mass meaning each segment would either be long and drawn out or fly like shit through a goose.

It was obvious the priest saying the short mass was the most popular and best attended services. Parishioners knew that speedy Father Flanigan always did the 10 am service and the church would be packed. Twenty minutes to save your soul on a Sunday morning was far better than the 75 minutes of hell at the 11:30 service. Us Catholics ain't no dummies. We're damned to hell, but ain't no dummies.

However, the church countered with a revised schedule and rotated the priests for different mass times not letting the congregation know in advance who would be saying what mass. (Bastards!)

The intro is over. We now move forward to the second segment of a Catholic mass, The Damnation. (Consisting of standing then sitting several times with a few Amens tossed in.)

The Damnation covers several rituals of the mass. The first being the evil look of the priest upon late comers attempting to sneak into the back of the church after mass had started. Usually these late comers would try to quickly blend in. Some would take the first available pew and stare straight ahead. Some would walk to the back of the church in the dimly lit part and stand. And some would walk in and immediately stop at random, and stay in that exact spot for the duration. Much like a deer being caught in the headlights of a pickup truck full of rednecks hunting for Thanksgiving Day dinner.

The second part of the damnation comes during the prayer and hymn sessions. (During this part, there are some rapid standing and sitting protocols.) You must learn to follow along. Otherwise, you are hopelessly lost. (Like Born Again Christians)

The priest would scan the congregation searching for parishioners not participating. When he spotted one not singing or saying the prayer loud enough, he would zero in on him/her, maintain eye contact until the entire congregation was looking at this poor soul, and then slowly but deliberately, shake his head back and forth in disgust. The unlucky soul would then be the talk of the morning during coffee and dough nuts after mass. You could bet he or she would be singing loud and proud next week damn it.

After Damnation, we move into the third segment, Fire And Brimstone. (Also known as the Gospel reading and sermon) Each Sunday, the priest would take to his pulpit and read aloud from the Gospel. He would pick a passage meant to inspire the congregation to be generous, forgiving, and to love God. (But mostly to be generous, especially during the collection plate pass around) (This segment involved only sitting for fear the priests words would make people pass out in fright and fall down.)

After the Gospel reading, the priest would offer his sermon to us all. (I would describe us as lambs being led to slaughter) The sermon was supposed to touch on the Gospel passage and how we in modern times, abide or deny the teachings of Christ.

Instead, we usually got the priest yelling at the congregation about the pitiful collection from last weeks masses. He would stress that the church needs even more money from us to continue doing God's work. (Didn't Jesus give away all his possessions) He would say those of us not giving at least 10% of our income should be ashamed to be Catholic and we better make it up in this week's collection lest the Lord look poorly upon us. (Apparently, the priest had a hot tip for the football game later that day)

The priest would then shift gears and drop it down into overdrive. His eyes would turn a golden brown and fire would come out of his mouth. (No, not really! But it sounded like it) At this point, the priest would rant and rave about how we, the congregation, need to help the church with more than just money donations. He would preach that there was plenty of work to be done around the school and church. He needed parents to volunteer for coaching, CCD class, hot lunch program, maintenance and repair of the church, rectory, and school. And the priests car.

All this time his hands would be very mobile waving them up and down and back and forth. Reminded me of a pizza maker, the way he would throw the dough in the air and spin it around. (If this priest thing didn't work out, Cornersburg Pizza shop could certainly use him)

It was now time for the Feast, segment 4, also known as communion time. (This segment involves standing, walking, kneeling, sitting, more standing, kneeling, and finally sitting.)

But first, we had to pay for the feast. The ushers would appear carrying felt covered baskets with very long handles and place it right under your nose and wait for you to open your wallet or purse and dump your cash into the basket. The ushers were very skilled at handling the baskets as never a dollar bill hit the floor. Once the baskets were full, the feast would begin.

Next, the priest and altar boys would huddle together with some secret handshakes and whispered incantations on the altar as gifts were exchanged and promises made. (I will explain all in a future update, I promise) A few bells rings signified that the feast was ready to be served. The ushers quickly came to the front of the church to prevent a stampede to the altar. (The food must really be good.) As the congregation filed up to the altar in perfect straight lines, hands folded, and without talking, it dawned on me why the Catholic nuns made us school kids practice forming lines every day. For the feast!

Finally, the Outro is upon us. (This segment involves sitting, then standing, and finally, walking or running out of the church to your car.)

The Outro is signaled by the lurkers in the back of the church edging towards the exit doors. Beating the traffic is a big part of Catholic mass. With only one road leaving the church, traffic backs up quickly. The priest asks the congregation to please rise, (Please, so now he's fucking polite, where was the politeness when he told us we were all going to hell for not putting enough money in the collection basket.) (I must confess, once I put an empty envelope in the collection basket and signed someone else's name to it. I am sure that family got the full frontal fire and brimstone from the happy betting priest)

Once the congregation were standing, the priest would say a quick prayer, make the sign of the cross and announce, "The mass is ended, you may go in peace." By the time the word peace was uttered, more than half the people were already battling each other in the parking lot.

There you have it. A typical Catholic mass explained. I know after you read this, you will all want to convert to Catholicism. Who would want to miss out on this action.

BTW, this was the 11:30 am mass. Next time, maybe you will get lucky and get the short version.

Short Version: Stand, Amen, sit, stand, Amen, sit, sit, stand, Amen, kneel, stand, form a line, walk, knell, sit, stand, leave. Salvation!

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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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On The Run From Nuns

Nuns Are Following Me

Catholic Nuns In Gatlinburg

I think my identity has been found out by the Catholic Nun order. Spying several nuns in Gatlinburg, Tennessee, I boarded the Ski Lift on the Parkway to the top of the Smoky Mountains to avoid detection.

Assuming I was safe I glanced back to see if I was followed....

Out of reflex, I immediately said 10 Hail Marys and 10 Our Fathers and one really good Act Of Contrition.

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The Post After 999

(Would You Mind Telling Me who's Brain I Did Put In)

According to the Blogspot dashboard, (Which everyone loves so much) I noticed I have 999 posts here at the Grassy Knoll Institute. When I press the publish button, this post will be #1000. Yea baby yea!

I have not really thought about what I should post about for this milestone high water mark entry. Perhaps I should plead for world peace. For lower oil prices. For Simon Cowell of American Idol fame to wear a goddamn bra. Throwing the tea back into the harbor. For politicians that do not lie. Dealing with an honest used car salesman. (One in the same perhaps) Finding empirical proof that aliens really do exist. And God for that matter, (That's for you Cyn) or how many licks it does take to get to the center of a tootsie roll pop.

My son, Lead Scientist of the Grassy Knoll Institute suggested I post about the times I almost burned down our secret headquarters, or electrocuted myself, not once, but thrice while doing some wiring work, or blowing up the bee hive buried in the ground in our back yard, or my balancing act on the ladder, (Or lack of balance) or what it really took to be a member of the Daredevils club, or my real theory pertaining to ABC's Lost.

My wife Patty, the bank, brains, and beauty behind the blog, suggested dinner at her favorite restaurant without me taking my damn camera and photographing the meal I order.

Instead, I think I will simply say thank you to everyone that reads my quirky little blog. And to everyone who comments. And to those that have me linked and blogrolled on their own respective blogs and websites. And to General George S. Patton, for his genius in warfare and being a ruthless but fair bastard.

And for the others, I guess there is no pleasing you then.

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LURKING, 1000 TIMES OVER, ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

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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Nun Punishment

Gemma Massey - Sexy Catholic Nun Punishment

Sister Gemma Massey, disciplining a careless student caught passing notes in second period religion class. The penalty, of course was immense torture followed by death by belt hanging.Perhaps nun punishment wasn't quite so harsh as depicted above, but to be fair, the nuns didn't look anything like the sexy Gemma Massey, the international model portraying the maniacal Catholic nun at the Chicago Halloween trade show.

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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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Birth Of The Anti-Christ

June Sixth, 2006. Another way to write it is, 06/06/06. And yet another way is 666. Those who do not understand the significance of the numbers or the date, please click the exit button on your browser. (You will be the first to perish during the Rapture I guarantee it) For those that do understand the numbers, the Grassy Knoll Institute is set to reveal the worlds oldest conspiracy.

June 6th, 2006 is upon us. If you have read you bible, (And you should have) especially the Book of Revelations, than you recognize 666 as the number of the beast, or the Anti-Christ. Revelations state that he will be recognized and known by this mark.

Perhaps this 666 mark is not a visible mark. As in movies depicting the Anti-Christ, 666 is burned into the skin on the back of the head of the Anti-Christ. That my friends would be to easy to spot and eliminate the danger, and avoid the prophecy of the bible.

So how else could 666 recognize and denote the Anti-Christ? Perhaps it is merely a date, an insignificant day throughout the millennia that goes unnoticed. Such as today's date, 06/06/06. How very clever for the Anti-Christ to choose this form of delivery method. Thousands of babies throughout the world on every continent will be born on this day, June 6th, 2006. Every single one of them is a potential Antichrist. This is the perfect way to hide and to guarantee that the Anti-Christ will not be hunted down and slaughtered before it can reach its peak power and influence.

Each passing year, a birthday celebration will mark this day for many of these children. The prophecy will come to fruition as these children will be recognized each and every year as they celebrate their birthdays.

It is said that the first Pope elected in the third Millennium, (The number of man) will reveal the third secret of Fatima. We now have a new Pope as John Paul II passed away last year and Pope Benedict the XVI is now in command of the Catholic faith. Could this third secret possibly reveal the way the Anti-Christ will enter this world?

As the years unfold, the Book of Revelations state that the Anti-Christ will grow in power and influence very quickly. I wonder how we, as civilized society folk will look upon a child born on this date if he or she possesses special abilities such as a genius IQ or a persuasive demeanor where people stop and listen to what he or she says. These children will be closely watched and scrutinized for the rest of their lives in fear that they are witnessing the dawning of the Anti-Christ.

Or, on the other edge of the sword. A child born on this day that is ruthless, mean, manipulative, and heartless. Again, these children will be closely observed.

What if religious zealots want to take matters into their own hands and stalk and attempt to murder a child they believe is the Anti-Christ before it can rise to power and damn the world?

The Grassy Knoll Institute believes there will come a time when one will have to choose faith over reason. The Grassy Knoll Institute believes that time is here and now. The clock is ticking. There are 33 years left, the age of Christ when he was crucified. Prepare your house and soul readers. The rapture is upon us.

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A Gaggle Of Nuns

Nuns With Guns

Some loyal readers have emailed me asking if the Grassy Knoll Institute had any pictures of the nuns from my grade school. To appease you all, I went rummaging through the Grassy Knoll basement vault and stumbled upon this great photo of my Class of 1965 second grade teachers.
As the photo clearly shows, these nuns were loaded for bear and ready to teach each days lesson with an iron fist. No one dared speak out of turn lest they wanted to feel the sting of cold steel. Not from the guns, (The guns were mere intimidation props) but from the edges of the three foot yard sticks they carried. These nuns were deadly accurate when wielding their weapon of choice.

The nuns were Sisters Hannibal, Jesse, Wylene, Shiloh, and Cheyanne. Their motto was "We're always on target when it comes to learning".
I knew these nuns had to be stopped. And I was just the lad to do it. As you read future stories of the battles with the Catholic nuns, you will now have an inner perception of what I was up against in the early 1960's.

The battle was just beginning, and it was time to learn how to play the Flute-O-Fone, that quirky white plastic horn instrument that all us Catholic kids had to endure. I had decided to make a stand on this issue. No way were these nuns going to force me to play an instrument that I didn't want to.

But that is another story, another legend.

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A Question About Noah

In our last episode, the Pastor had made a courtesy call home to my parents to give them an updated progress report on my day's behavior. I would have to be patient before provoking the nuns once again.

A week had passed and the days of waiting had now ended. It was time to attack the nuns once again. I was going to follow Wild Kingdoms Marlin Perkins hunting credo that once you get the animals on the run, never let them slow down to give the animals any time to rest. I set my task to the test.

As the students filed in one by one that particular day, the nun in charge gave me a glancing look as if she knew something was about to happen, much like the antelope before an earthquake knowing that something terrible was about to happen.

The nuns must have begun to suspect that they were in a match to the death with me. It would be a duel of wits. Of course the nuns came to fight unarmed. I was now sure that all their so-called faculty meetings were merely a ruse to disguise their plans to keep order in their classroom and to keep me off balance. I would have to figure out a way to bug the office to learn of their plans in advance. I needed that edge. After all, I was only in second grade.

The nuns were getting smarter but I had my ace in the hole and its name was Noah.

Our religion lesson began with the nuns telling us of a horrific flood that was coming to destroy the entire earth and all the people and animals. This particular day, the nuns treaded cautiously in choosing their words to describe that day's lesson. When the lesson had finished, it was now time for question and answer time.

MY favorite time. I decided to start off slowly this time with the nuns so as not to elicit suspicion quickly. I would ask legitimate questions first and then build to the climatic question that would send me to the principles office. In fact, I would let other students begin the interrogation. The perfect plan was in motion. Timmy and Tommy and Betty asked some brown noser questions to get them some brownie nun points much to the nuns delight. I almost saw one nun crack a smile, but I was wrong. These nuns were well trained.

At this moment I began my assault. I asked what the animals ate on the ark during the 40 days and nights. Another volley.

Then I asked that since lions and tigers only ate meat, what did Noah feed them.

I brought up snakes and how they had to eat their prey alive. I asked if Noah had to sacrifice several species of small mammals to keep the snakes from dying of starvation.

What about the birds? Were they kept in cages or did Noah let them fly free?

The stage had been set. The nuns were becoming agitated. The answers coming a little more quickly with less thought processes. They were getting a little sloppy.

It was time...

I raised my hand one last time, 5 minutes before class was to end. The nuns thought they had escaped. They were wrong. As fate would have it, sister Sharlett announced only one more question would be answered today due to time constraints. My hand was the only hand raised. Poised. Ready. Confident.

I began slowly, asking the nun if she remembered a previous lesson on Adam and Eve. She nodded in a positive way giving me the leverage I needed to continue.

I quickly asked that if only Noah, his wife, his three sons and their wives were the only humans to survive, then how did they re-populate the world? Yes, the hammer had dropped. The death knell had been rung. Sister Sharlett looked on stunned, waiting for the question to fully sink in.

As if she were in a cartoon, it seemed like a light bulb turned on over her head and a scowl covered her face. She had taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker and I was reeling her in. She was about to inform the class the real reason why we are all considered brothers and sisters. It was because Noah's sons and daughters paired up with each other and were fruitful and multiplied. Again, the entire story of Noah was based on incest.

As usual, the nuns in the room became furious. Very loud cackling could be heard as they quickly huddled together much like a football huddle. Seconds later, I was being dragged by my heels out of the office, down the hall to the Pastors office. Yes, this time the principles office was bypassed. I must have been very special.

I began to think that the nuns had changed their pattern to confuse me, frighten me, to get the upper hand. Being a veteran of the wrath of the nuns, I was not worried for I knew the ultimate outcome would be a trip to the Pastors office. Bypassing the principles office was merely an added bonus.

As luck would have it, the Pastor was in a meeting and very busy at the time but he did take a moment to attend to this matter. Whispering by nuns, the positive nods by the pastor, and a few hand gestures and the huddle once again broke. They were ready to run their play. I was in blitz mode.

The pastor said that I was disrupting religion class and that Jesus wouldn't like what I was doing. I was also informed that this was going on my permanent record and that this incident would be with me for the rest of my life.

The next moment was way out of character for the nuns. No yelling, no threat of expulsion, no talk of detention. Just the permanent record thing. I could live with that. Hell, I didn't know what my permanent record was anyhow so no big deal.

Then, another twist. Instead of being escorted back to the classroom, I came face to face with my mother in the school hall. She did not look pleased to see me. Without saying a word my mother communicated with the nuns with some sort of secret hand signals and I was in the car and on my way home for the day. Being that it was only second period, I felt pretty lucky thinking I would have the rest of the day to play. Boy was I ever wrong with that impression.

Several days later, I asked my big brother Jack what my permanent record was and why was it so important. He began to explain that... Well, that's another story.

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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

4th Grade Class Picture 1970

Class Picture - Pick Me Out

Catholic grade school. Where the grassy knoll conspiracy began. I knew the nuns were lying big time, not just to me, but to the entire class. I could see right through them. It was time to rebel, question everything, stop wearing clip on ties, and start eating meat on Fridays. This wise ass Irish kid had a plan, and it was a good one. I implemented phase one in first grade when I exposed the class nuns head by pulling off her habit. They knew at that moment that I meant business.
That led me to here. The Grassy Knoll Institute. Where everything is questioned. And I do still eat meat on Fridays. Not so much wear the clip on ties though.

As an added bonus, can anyone pick me out in the class picture? BTW, the nun pictured is Sister Eileen, the school principal. The FN bitch.

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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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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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Antarctica Rising

Antarctica Revealing Ancient Secrets

Wilkes Land, Antarctica

Antarctica has become a hotbed of activity as of late with wild speculation and government cover ups. Most rumors involve the ozone layer being vastly depleted and the melting of its glaciers and ice shelf and how it affects the future of the world's climate. Some rumors however, are more outlandish like the most recent rumor involving pope John Paul the second.

Apparently, several weeks before his death, pope John Paul II hastily dispatched a team of religious inspectors to Antarctica to supervise and investigate the strange happenings on the northern coast of the continent. The pope did not believe the story of the American government that they were trying to salvage a Mars probe that crashed landed there. The pope felt that they had discovered an archeological finding with significant religious importance. As the American government does so well, they whipped up a hoax to fuel the fire about a website researching and finding proof of the existence of the lost continent Atlantis.

All conspiracies and cover ups need a good back story to shift interest away from the actual events taking place. This was a perfect ruse.Enough about the hoax. The story was right about the pope dispatching a team of inspectors, but it wasn't on the northern coast but in fact to Wilkes Land, a United States military base where the so-called dig was taking place. It's not about Atlantis, but a far more deep cutting event that the United States is trying to keep under wraps for fear that if the truth does get out, mass hysteria and panic may occur.

The Grassy Knoll Institute has had its own team of scientists on Wilkes Land for several months now and after an intensive investigation, is now prepared to shock the world with the revelation that it is not the Mars probe that was uncovered, or proof of the lost world of Atlantis, but a 2000 year old spacecraft buried beneath 2 miles of the frozen surface. The craft is perfectly preserved. Sonar pictures estimated the size at almost 100 yards in circumference.

More incredulous than the craft is that a dozen frozen bodies have been found in pristine condition inside the craft. The bitter cold has kept them almost perfected preserved.

After months of drilling and excavating, a team reached the entrance and discovered 12 crewmen. Remarkably, they all appeared to be human. DNA tests were conducted to verify if they were human. Shockingly, all 12 bodies found were of alien origin.

The Grassy Knoll Institute now understands the religious ramifications and why the pope dispatched his team. Carbon dating has the craft dated at 2000 years old. Also found were ancient texts that described the Christ crucifixion and a sort of journal, or captains log explaining why it was time to leave. The Vatican knows that if this story and pictures of the crewmen ever gets out, religion as we know it will be forever changed.

Photographs have been taken but are being withheld from the public eye causing more speculation that one of the bodies had injuries and wounds consistent of being tortured but no indications of wounds on the hands or feet as of yet.

The Grassy Knoll Institute will keep you updated as more news and information becomes available.

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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