When I was small in a big Way Eay
By the time I was in the second grade in the Parochial school, 8600Winchester Rd, I knew nothing about divergences between private School or public school, but it all seemed just right for me. Several nuns were teaching in the school with a handful of lay teachers. There was one nun, Sister Blaze, the nicest of them all, and I was lucky to be in her mid-morning class. On the other hand, there was the lay teacher Ms. Smith, who was very mean except to the wealthy. That was in the afternoon class. I got in big trouble one time because I lit a match and quickly blew it out, all this on a dare. I did not know that the phosphorus would be so stable as to be able to permeate through, then linger throughout the room. Just about the time, it was to do our evening prayers before going home. The teacher sent out a yell, asking who was playing with matches. Somebody said a word, I thought she would let us go, but she was insistent on continuing with wanting to know. She said that would be in the room standing until somebody came forward and came forward. What else could I do, other than walk sleeplessly to the front of the room? After some scolding, she got out the tree inch stick and told me to hold out my hands. I got several swats on the soft side of my hands, which caused me to whimper with more scolding to listen to. All the class stands and listens. In this private school, most of the students had their parents come to pick them up in the afternoon as well as dropped off in the morning. I am sure the parents for this class knew why it was taking so long to get out, of course. I am sure the word got out to all the parents fast. Our family was within walking distance, so Mr. Smith had to call my dad to get me and have a talk with her.
So, Ms. Smith told him about the whole thing and then said to him that the two of us need to visit with Fr. Bolen and that he was waiting in his office. My dad said that he would take care of this situation. Then Fr. Bolen gave me a loud talking. When we were on the way home, my dad gave me some more talking too.
I remember the time that our class had to practice every day outside to dance to a tall pole that was put out in the parking lot. I didn’t want to do this, but there were no choices in the Catholic school system for the younger ones. So, I had to be one of the guys to hang on to a big String and walk around slowly to some music until it was all rapped to the pool almost to the bottom of the pole. We practiced this a few times to the music until we were coordinating with each other guys. I am not sure we were that coordinated, but the nuns gave us a break and said we would be practicing again after lunch.
Right after lunch, the nuns were making sure that all the guys were in their proper location. Then to our surprise, they started to take one girl to each of us, one at a time. Some of us kind of looked a little unhappy. I know for me there were two reasons to have a sad look on my face. One was because the girl that I had was a Majorite. I didn’t think it was very pretty. The one girl, the first time I saw her was so enamored for being assigned to one of my friends. Yes, I was looking at the girls in Second grade. We condensed to walking around the pole with our big pole, but this time we had to learn more than just walking around at a proper cadet, but we had to let the girl have her arm attached to ours and make sure we were all in sync, some of us were inside a little bit while Avery another group would be inside. By the time we got the string had finished, it was supposed to look like a pretty colored ribbon covered over the pole. It all sounds good, but it wasn’t easy. It all started in early April, so by the time the first of May was here, we were pretty good at it. Margareta and didn’t have many words. She was a soft-hearted young lady. I remember once when I was about 25 years old, I saw her go into a store, and I was amazed at how beautiful she was — incredible a knockout. I did not dare to say anything to her; watch until she disappeared. I remembered the ugly duckling.
May Day came, and to my surprise, there were many people there. I didn’t know this was going to be a tremendous event with food and beer, and my parents and grandparents on the Catholic said. Fr. Bolen was there with a new cigar instead of the front half all smoky, and the other half all shooed up in his mouth all pity and stinky. Fr. Bolen went around to all the parents with great salutations to each other. I didn’t know anyone liked Fr. Bolen. I remember the time he gave me some scary treatment in one of the classes. I was making fart noises, and the lay teacher called Fr. Bolen to talk to me. He made me so afraid of him, and I saw in him that he could be a hard person. The next thing I knew in the fair After Fr. Bolen had sent a hello to everyone he was having hears with my Grandpa Jim. They were having a great time. After that day, I saw Fr. Bolen defiantly. My Grandpa Jim also
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