All Catholics Are Right Handed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

The Holy Trinity

Catholic grade school, second period, religion class, 1967

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Altar Boys Secret Society

The Altar Boys Secret Society Part I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Flute-O-Phone Concert

 Flute-O-Phone Concert From Hell!

Suck It Bitches

Go tell aunt Rhoda, go tell aunt Rhoda, Go tell aunt Rhoda the old gray goose is dead. Ahh yes, every Catholic boy and girl in the 1960's knew this song and knew it well. It was just one of the many magical musical hits we learned to play on our "fluteophone" recorders in music class. You remember this musical instrument don't you?

The fluteophone was the Nuns favorite instrument for it was an amazing tool for them to wield power and influence over us Catholic school kids. It was a rite of passage that every Catholic child had to endure. And it was now my turn to carry on the tradition.

So there I was, about 9 weeks into the school year thinking that maybe the fluteophone curse would skip a generation sparing me the pain and agony of playing this silly annoying instrument. But, just like the swallows that return to Capistrano every Springtime, so would the fluteophone rear it's ugly face and sound. The Nuns, or Sisters as we sometimes called them, informed my class of the good news that our fluteophones would be arriving in several days and that we would begin practice immediately afterward. The Sisters were all giddy in anticipation, some almost smiling. An awesome day indeed.

The nuns rambled on and said that we would be taught many a fine songs. The classics they said. Like I wanted to learn how to play Mary Had A Little Lamb or Row, Row, Row Your Boat. Hell, I couldn't even begin to sing these songs let alone bring forth pleasant music from this instrument. I figured this had to be some sort of nun punishment and I for one wanted no part in this. A Line In The Sand had been drawn!

My 9 year old brain started to plot and scheme trying to reason a way out of this torture. Maybe I could be sick for 18 or so weeks. Maybe I could tell the Nuns that I had a severe throat infection and playing the fluteophone was detrimental to my health. Although these plans seemed to be perfect, I knew the Nuns would soon catch on and then my life as a Catholic would be over. My mortal soul would be lost on the river of woe for eternity. I needed a much more diabolical plan. I would need a little more time to see how the Nuns would play this out. I would wait for a mistake and only then would I make my move on them.

That fateful day arrived. A package had been delivered. The instruments of destruction lied dormant within. As the Sisters carefully opened the brown box, a silence like no other I had experienced fell upon the class. Not even breathing could be heard. Maybe all the kids were holding their breath much like I was praying to God that the box contained chocolate candy bars that would be passed out to all us kids. In an instant, I was snapped back to reality as the first white plastic flute emerged from the box.

Another Nun began calling our names in alphabetical order and as our names were called, we rose from our chairs and walked slowly toward the Nun holding the fluteophones. Moments later, my name was called and I was in the funeral march type procession to receive my musical instrument.

After everyone's name was called, the Nuns begun with lesson number one. They really weren't lying when they said they would jump right in with the lessons. Lesson one was all fire and brimstone. It was a warning by the Sisters that you were not to lose the fluteophone, break it, damage it any any way, chew gum while playing it, or using it for any other reason than playing music, and only the music sanctioned by the Nuns themselves.

We were even told not to play the music outdoors for fear that a dog, annoyed by the high pitch, might attack us thus making us drop the fluteophone and damage it. It would be OK if the dog mauled us but we better protect that fluteophone with our very lives.

To me, this was totally unacceptable but still I bided my time. As the days went on and the lessons increased, the Nuns would single us out and force us to play solo in front of the class to see just how far we progressed. Actually, I believed the Nuns did this exercise to see just how terrible we were. Of course, my name was called continually to perform the solo. Being the obstinate lad that I was, I would give it a half hearted attempt and then listen to the Nuns honest critique of my music ability.

If the Nuns were permitted to utter the word "Suck", then that would have summed it up. Since they were not permitted to utter such profanity, the nuns used words like slacker and deviant which were the nuns way of telling me that I sucked at playing the fluteophone.

Like I cared. It's not like I was daydreaming of one day becoming the greatest fluteophone player in the world. Maybe become more popular than Zanfir and his magic pan flute..... Ahh, dare to dream. Millions of fans coming to hear me play. Much like the Beatles were, only more popular.....

Anyway, the weeks went by excruciatingly slow as each lesson became more tedious than the previous one. The only benefit I could see from these lessons was that if I were somehow magically transported into a Johnny Quest carton and then cornered by a pack of poisonous vipers and my only chance of survival was to play the fluteophone and charm the snakes into submission. Again, I was snapped back into reality. The Nun was calling my name again to perform. Again, the same results, and of course the same critique. At least I was consistent.

Then one day, it dawned on me that I would never be able to successfully perform the intricate maneuvers needed from my thumb and ring finger to produce the right sound. However, all was not lost.

I did find out that if I merely just blew as hard as I could into the flute and moved my fingers up and down as if I were playing chopsticks on steroids on a piano, that I made the most god awful noise. That noise was affectionately known now as the snake charmer song.

Revenge was at hand.

Finally, I saw a small sliver of an opening to aggravate the Nuns but I would have to bide my time. I would make the Nuns truly believe that I was really trying, that I was giving my best effort so as to deflect any type of scrutiny or suspicion.

More weeks went by and our group was coming together especially when we played Row, Row, Row your boat. And yes, there I was, doing my Catholic duty playing the fluteophone. After one particular practice, the Nuns proclaimed us ready to perform in front of an audience. What? A live audience? This was perfect. The Nuns continued with their news and said that we would be playing with all the other Catholic schools in the area the following week. We would be putting on a huge concert where all the schools would each have some solo time and also would play as a full force.

This thought was mind boggling. Several thousand students playing the fluteophone in one room. I would hope the foundation of the building was sturdy enough to take the brunt of the assault. I immediately felt sorry for my parents having to endure this punishment, not just once, but seven times, with me being one of seven children since my parents were good Catholic parishioners.

My time was approaching. The next week couldn't arrive fast enough. We all met at school and the Nuns had a surprise for us. Green capes! Yes, capes, the color of Robins cape from the television series, Batman And Robin. We were to wear these capes to show our school pride. I asked why the capes were green since our school colors were blue and silver. The Nuns put an end to all questions by smacking her yard stick ruler down hard several times on her desk. She yelled out to "Listen up children, and settle down". She continued with the standard Nun rhetoric that God was watching us all and that he was proud of us all for learning to play the fluteophone and that blah blah blah.....

Moments later we were all shuffling onto the school bus that would take us to the field house. It was a short trip and quickly we were all walking into the field house where we saw thousands of happy looking parents, (most of them having already inserted their heavy duty ear plugs) seated waving and smiling as their children passed by.

We took our positions for the concert. We were high up, about three rows from the top of the hall. Surely no one could spot me here. I was in the catbird seat. It was absolutely perfect. I was looking around, casing the joint, looking for Nuns, spies, and priests. None were in the area. At this point, the conductor began striking his pointer on the podium trying to bring the crowd to attention. His tapping worked. We were ready. Poised. Anxious.

The concert opened with the entire group of schools playing Row, Row, Row your boat. It was almost stereophonic as each school was playing several beats apart from each other. Of course, when the song was over, the parents applauded and it was now solo time. Several schools went ahead of us and we, being competitive Catholic kids, sized up the competition. (Like we could tell who were the better fluteophone players)

Finally, the moment had arrived. My moment. As we began our solo, (Our selection was Mary Had A Little Lamb) I took action. As loud as I could, I started belting out the snake charmer song. At first, I was a but a single voice in a crowd of precision playing. Several seconds later, the kids standing next to me also began playing my snake charmer tune. The snake charmer song swept through the group much like the "Fan Wave" at a National Football League game. In no time at all, the snake charmer song was being played by all, and not just our school, but by all the schools.

And of course, when we stopped, all the parents clapped supporting my theory that indeed they had heavy duty ear plugs inserted.

In a matter of mere seconds, Nuns were all over the place like a SWAT team bust. We were quickly escorted out with strict orders not to say a single word. Apparently, the Nuns didn't want to tamper with the crime scene and wanted to prevent any of us to discuss alibi's.

The bus trip back to the school was silent. Just glaring stares from the Nuns. As the bus pulled into the school parking lot, the Nuns spoke to us informing that a full investigation (Or rather the Spanish Inquisition) would be held on Monday when we returned to school.

When Monday did come, the Nuns tried unsuccessfully to crack us and drive a wedge between us. Not a single student admitted anything. Even the priests on Confession day asked us if we were involved in the snake charmer incident. When all avenues were exhausted, the only recourse left to the Nuns was complete class detention for a week. To me, this was a small price to pay. It was by far the lesser of the two evils of being sent to the principles office for a round of interrogation from the Pastor.

To this day, the Nuns did not know it was me that began the cascade of snake charmer tunes. Although they heavily suspected me, they had no proof whatsoever. I had beaten the nuns. It was a good victory over the Nuns. It felt good.

But enough of the fluteophone. It was now time to sign up to become an alter boy.

But that is another story.....

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Is Bill Gates The Anti-Christ

The Grassy Knoll Institute perhaps sheds some light on the anti-Christ.Throughout history, many men and several women, (Hilary Clinton) have been linked to being the Anti-Christ.

The Book of Revelations clearly details how to recognize the Anti-Christ. Let's see if Bill stacks up.....

The anti-Christ will be known and marked with the number of the beast, 666.

Bill Gates full name is William Henry Gates III. If you take the letters in Bill Gates III and then convert them into ASCII computer code, (the American standard code) and add up all the numbers, the sum equals six hundred and sixty six, or...666. Now I believe everyone knows what that number signifies. It is the number of the beast.

Bill has passed the first test. He is known by the mark of the beast, 666.

Adding more evidence: If you convert Microsoft Windows 95 with the same code you wind up with the same number, 666. Want more..... Also MS-DOS 6.31 operating system also adds up to 666. See the pattern here?

The Bible clearly states in the Book of Revelations that the anti-Christ would be someone very powerful that would rise up, add followers by the droves, and lead us all into the beginning to the end of the world.

Let's break this down. First, who has this kind of power? Bill Gates does. More than 85% of all computers in the world today run on either windows or DOS software programs owned by Microsoft and Gates. Even the military and Pentagon computers are running windows.

For argument sake let's say a virus was embedded into every computer program created by Microsoft. Say this virus with the stroke of a single key, can activate itself and cause the military computers of the world to initiate a first strike nuclear event triggering a nuclear world war.

Or a command prompt causing mathematical errors in the banking, stock markets, and financial centers of the world. Panic and riots would erupt. What if Gates could do all this right from his home deep in the secluded and well protected hills of Montana.

Certainly, if this were true, than Gates would possess great power as the Book Of Revelations warned us about. Sound incredulous? Impossible? Well, just remember, by using your Internet explorer browser, owned by Microsoft, which more than likely you are viewing this very page on IE, or are running a Microsoft program, you are allowing it to copy and learn little bits and pieces of information about you and it is put in a vast database. This happens every time you log on.

The second part says that the anti-Christ would rise up and add followers by the droves. Looking at Microsoft, Bill started his company with just a few employees and rose up in a very short time to become the leader in computer software. He is one of the richest men in the world right now. And with money, comes power, and corruption soon to follow. Millions of applications of Microsoft software are being sold every day. An average of 68,000 brand new users log onto the Internet each and every day with most of them running Microsoft software. I would call that adding followers by the droves.

Let's move on. The Bible says that the damned one will force everyone, young and old, small and large, rich and poor, free and slave, to receive a mark on his hand or on his forehead so that no one can buy, sell, and trade in the temple unless he has the mark, which is the mark of the beast or the number of his name.

So, what does this mean? Let's begin with the Internet. Isn't the Internet becoming the preferred practice of doing business? Just about every major business is now connected to the world wide web. Big deal right? So, how do we get the sign of the beast from the net? Notice that the Internet is referred to as the world wide web, or WWW. We begin our search on the Internet by typing in our explorer browser www.anyaddress.com. WWW. Before the English translation, the letter W was written as VI. So, WWW in the past was written VIVIVI. Isn't VI the Roman numeral for 6? VIVIVI is 666 for it is spaced where other numeral symbols would not be added.

The world economy is using the Internet as a linkup to combine and join all businesses world wide. In just a few years, it will become impossible for large corporations to conduct business without a linkup to the Internet. Small businesses will be soon to follow. Again, Microsoft owns most of the operating software and technology for today's business almost to the point of being a monopoly. In fact, Microsoft has been in court for months defending it's strong hold on it's software sales.

OK, OK, you say, yes these things can be all true, but how in the world do you explain the mark of the beast on your hand or forehead? Good question. Ready for the answer? Let's refresh shall we. The Bible says that the mark of the beast will be on one's hand or forehead and will be needed to conduct business.

Aren't we all starting to carry around cell phones? Hold the phone up to your ear to speak. Using it to cancel or add a meeting. Set up an appointment? Schedule an interview? Aren't we all starting to carry laptop computers because all our info is stored on them and it would be impossible to conduct business without it.

Here's the kicker. The mouse and the monitor. Couldn't the mouse be the mark on the hand? After all, without the mouse, the computer is just an expensive paper weight. The monitor, which is forehead high, could be the mark on the forehead. When this was written, man at the time would not have been able to comprehend computers and technology. It would have to be described in a simpler form, like a mark on the hand and forehead.

Are all the pieces of the puzzle starting to fall into place?

We are just now entering the dawn of a new millennium, the third millennium, the number of man.

With all these warnings, the Grassy Knoll Institute wonders why we don't heed the warnings of the Book Of Revelations. It's a very good Book. You should read it sometime. It may just save your soul.

Perhaps....

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

God Is All Powerful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

Adam And Eve

Adam And Eve, The Nuns Version

In the last episode, I thought I had escaped punishment from the sadistic Catholic nuns but alas I was wrong. I vowed revenge against these nuns and I would start extracting it right now.

So there I was, (Circa, 1966) in religion class listening to the lesson taught by the nuns. This particular lesson was about Adam and Eve, the first human beings God created and put into the Garden of Eden and then given dominion over all the animals of the earth, the fish in the sea, and the birds in the sky. The lesson continued and the nun revealed that Adam and Eve had two children, Cain and Abel. This was my chance, the start of my revenge. I would quietly wait until the nun asked if there were any questions. Then I would strike.

Of course the nun finished the lesson and indeed asked that fateful question. Slowly, indignantly, I raised my hand cautiously, not wanting to make the nun suspicious. The stage was set. The nun slowly scanned the classroom defiantly looking for raised hands. Only a single hand was raised. Mine. The nun narrowed her scan and rotated her head towards my upright hand and began to speak. “It looks like Patrick has a question for the class,” she said. OK, I thought to myself, perspiring a little, anticipating the outcome of my question.

Out it came. Loud and clear. Thee ultimate classic religious question of all time. Before i asked the question, I needed a little back story to fortify my stance so I began by saying.... The bible said Cain and Abel had children. If God only created Adam and Eve, and they had only two sons, Cain and Abel, then who were their wives, and who were the mothers of their children?

The gauntlet had been dropped. The nun stared at me in disbelief. The classroom was as quiet as a tomb. All the sound and motion had been quickly sucked away. It was a moment suspended in time. The nun was frozen in her place.

My question had implied that the Catholic religion was based on incest and the real reason why we are all considered brothers and sisters was because Eve had to be the mother to Cain and Abel’s children.

A minute later, which felt more like an hour, the nun descended upon me, grabbing me by my arm, lifting me from my school desk, and briskly and quietly dragged me out of the room and of course down to the principles office. Sacrilege was the only word the nun spoke to me. In an instant, a gaggle of nuns gathered, and murmuring became more prominent. I was told to sit in the chair and wait for the Pastor to speak to me.

Fifteen minutes later, the Pastor made his entrance, ever looking like Count Dracula with his black loose flowing cape with a bright blood red satin inset. A black buttoned up collarless shirt, and slicked back black hair completed the ensemble. If he had said “Good evening”, I probably would have fainted.

Our talk began the usual way with the Pastor lecturing me on upsetting my class room and the nuns with such questions but to put my mind at ease, he would answer my question for me. He explained that Adam and Eve was a parable of sorts to explain Gods creation of man and the completion of Genesis. Besides, the Pastor asked me, “Don’t you remember the story of Noah and his great ark and how God flooded the earth for man had sinned and had to be punished and only spared Noah, his wife, and his three sons and wives?” The Pastor continued and explained that if I reread the story, I would understand that God cleansed the earth of mans sin and what happened between Eve and her sons did not matter anymore.

Feeling satisfied, the Pastor said the only thing left to do was call home to my parents to give them a progress report on my days activities and that I could return to my class and resume my learning.

As I got up from my chair, something had dawned on me about the story of Noah and his ark and the selection of two sets of animals each to preserve them after the waters have receded. If all the people on the earth perished in the great flood then……

Before I finished my thought, I reeled around looking for the Pastor to ask just one more question but a nun, who I recognized as the hall monitor nun came into the room and was told to escort me back to my cell, err, class room. The Noah question would have to wait for now. Enough damage had been instilled on the nuns for one day. I again would lay in the weeds waiting for the right time to strike. And strike I would. But that is yet another story, another legend.

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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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LURKING RELIGIOUSLY ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

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