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Prolouge: John (continued)
There was one thing that my father and I ended up doing together, Little League Baseball. I didn't want to participate. I liked baseball but my favorite activities did not include an actual physical activity other than that that ocurred in my imagination. But, my father insisted not so much because he wanted to be active with me, but several of his drinking companions were involved as Little League Managers and my father never liked to be outdone. Actually, I turned out to not be so bad making the allstar team all three years that I participated. But, I didn't really enjoy it and other than the times we were together at practices or games, it added nothing to bring us closer.
My father did do me a big favor though when it came to my schooling. My mother was Irish Catholic, she was born in Ireland and came to the USA with her family in 1929. My father was Methodist (only because his parents were) and he never went to church. So, since they could afford it, my parents sent me to parochial schoool though that's not the favor my father did for me. But, he had a helpfull hand in bringing it to an end.
It was in the sixth grade. Now, I have to admit that I was at times a trouble maker (it's called acting out) and was not a favorite of the nuns that were the teachers at the school I attended. But, I wasn't really that bad. Like I said I loved books and I also loved learning and was pretty good at that too.
One day while the Sister was writing a lesson on the blackboard, someone decided to throw a spitwad at her. It wasn't me but this particular nun did not exactly like me for a lot of questions I would ask about the church (it was a religion class). So, of course, I was the one she choose to be the "sinning" party. As we all know, the 11th Commandment is "Thou shall not throw a spitwad at a Nun". Being innocent, I denied it. That resulted in a ruler across my hand. I continued to be nonconfessional and naturally unrepentent. That brought another hand smashing ruler.
After the second blow to my hand, I reacted instinctively and struck the Sister with a sidearm jab to the head. It sent her to a sitting position on the floor and a gale of laughter from the rest of the class.
This is where my father enters the tale and does me a favor in regards to my schooling which eventually changes my life completely. He comes to the inevitable meeting with Monsignor that would decide my fate.
Monsignor to my father, "You do understand that this is a serious matter. We must maintain authority and can not have the students striking the teachers. Not to mention such actions can have an affect on your son's entrance to heaven."
My father snorted, "First, I'm sure if Johnny (I hated being called Johnny) hit her it was for good cause. What fucking (he always spoke his mind) right did the bitch have hitting him. He told her he didn't throw the damn spitball." It's quite obvious my father was a) not a Catholic and b) not a religious person. "And don't lay that heaven crap on me. When we're dead it's nothing more than cold soil to cover you."
Monsignor turned several shades of red and was having a hard time being able to respond. I'm sure he had never had a parent or anyone talk to him like that (at least not since he started wearing his collar backwards). Finally, he was able to speak. "This meeting is at an end and your son is expelled permanently not only from this school but any other in the archdiocese."
"Thanks dad," I thought to myself. And for a moment I thought we had gotten closer because he had defended me. That was a short term feeling.
In the parking lot, my father stopped me as we were getting in the car and stared at me. "Jesus fucking christ, you couldn't even knock the the damn penguin out!"
My mother was furious with my father, but that too didn't last long.
It was nearly summer and I attended a public school for about three weeks. It was fine, in fact I liked it since I didn't have to wear that damn white shirt, gray pants, black shoes, and red tie.
But the real favor my father did for me would come at the end of that summer and on the first day of seventh grade. That was the day I saw Kristy for the first time. That was the day my life would change for ever though not all of it would be good.
(To be continued with Prologe: Kristy)
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