THE IMPATIENT GARDENER

The day after Christmas I start telling people that "this time next month we can say that in one more month we'll only have a month to go until we see the first crocus." That pretty much sums up my feelings about winter. Although my partner can drive through a "white-out" on the way to our cottage and say "Isn't this beautiful?"....he's usually greeted by silence because Woof and I are under a blanket in the back seat. I'm reasonably sane until Christmas...then out come the spring catalogs, and new sketches for a garden expansion.

By January the primroses start appearing in the stores, and after finally figuring out that those amazingly colorful little plants like the cold, I now have them year round. I sat a few of them out of the way on the floor of my little greenhouse one year and they surprised me by thriving and blooming for months. They ended up in the garden that summer, and with this mild winter they've been shyly blooming for weeks now.

I had a nursery guy tell me about the new "Delta" pansies a few years ago that are really cold resistant. Ever notice how many pansies you see in the Fall lately? I wait for them to go on sale in October and last year paid 1.50 for a whole flat. They've been blooming on my back porch in window boxes ever since. The Witch Hazel is so full and bright this year that it almost looks like forsythia, and the purple and yellow crocus underneath look as though I actually planned the display.

I try to divide the snowdrops every year after they bloom, and as tedious as that quickly becomes, the payoff next year makes it worth it. If the moles or voles or whatever the heck they are would take a hike my tulips would look a whole lot better in April. I planted hundreds of the Darwin Hybrids a few years ago (they really are perennial) and they were magnificent until those ugly creatures discovered them. At least nobody eats the daffodils.

As soon a I see the big burlaped forsythia plants for sale I'll buy two of them, strain my back by potting them up, and bring them into our front hall. I got the idea watching a Mass from the Vatican (no less), and we'll have a Spring cocktail party where the guests will be appropriately awed by my brilliant display. Later I'll plant them at the lake...(the plants..not the guests). I'll start the sweet peas on my heat mat this weekend...and also plant some outside on Good Friday..which is a family tradition.

This is going to be a long "pre-spring"...it feels as if tomorrow ought to be the first of April instead of the first of March. No doubt there'll be another "white-out" or two to contend with, and maybe Woof and I will peek out the window just to see if we can spot a patch of green that will improve the view from our cozy nest in the back seat.

A LOSE LOSE SITUATION

I remember when the scariest person around was Sarah Palin...but then came Christine O'Donnel ( I am not a witch )...and Michelle Bachman and her frolicking gay changing husband, but I really don't think in all my born days that I've ever seen and heard such crazy talk from  two guys who really want to run this country. I guess Mr Mitt is a little more palatable than Mr Rick, but he's so different from most Americans, and comes across as such a phony....likes to fire people...makes ten thousand dollar wages....likes the height of the trees in Michigan...has a wife that drives a couple of Cadillacs...has friends who own Nascar teams...wants a Constitutional amendment to outlaw same sex marriage..wants to reinstate Don't Ask Don't Tell.. abused his dog...and is struggling to win the vote in his home state...and still thinks the bailout that saved the car industry there was a mistake....Good God!

Mr Rick is unpalatable period. Anti Gay...anti women working...anti birth control...anti separation of Church and State ( said he wanted to puke when he read JFK's speech about said separation )...thinks wanting a college education for your kids is "snobery"...is trigger happy with Iran....also thinks the Detroit bailout was a mistake...bilked Penn Hills for his kids cyber school (in Virginia)...doesn't want to take money from white people and give it to "bla"...( that was a classic! )...and wants to keep our troops in Afghanistan where they're still dying for people who hate them....GEEZE !

What's with the Republican party these days? Virginia, Alabama, and our own state of Pa have bills pushing really invasive procedures on women, arguing that a fertilized egg is a person...fighting about birth control...they're sounding crazier every day. Thank God I'm an intrinsically disordered gay liberal socialist anti-war radical feminist supporting cafeteria Catholic.

AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER ?

This morning I watched that horror unfolding at the school in Ohio, and realized how this kind of thing is familiar now. It made me think about my days as a classroom teacher, and the huge responsibility that I felt to keep those kids safe while they were in my care. Someone was talking this morning about how important it is not to ignore any threats, or unusual statements on social media...how most cases involving these school or workplace shootings involve a threat that was somehow overlooked or ignored. That's easier said than done. I taught some pretty rough kids in my day...kids that I felt I might well be reading about in the paper some day. I'm not sure what I could have done with that "sense" about a student when they hadn't actually done anything. What about all those statements you see on FACEBOOK where people say they're fed up...or done in...is that a signal to contact them to make sure they aren't suicidal?

We are our brother's keeper, but what about that neighbor who's really odd, and has a beautiful big dog that he never walks, and you worry about whether or not he feeds him enough....or the guy down the street who has lots of bright lights in his basement and lots of people who stop by for two minutes and then leave with a little bag...or the young couple who have screaming matches that wake up the neighborhood at three in the morning? How serious are these situations, and what can actually be done unless something really bad happens?

Five kids are in the hospital this morning, shot while they were in the cafeteria at their school. Maybe the shooter sent out threatening messages that should have been taken seriously, or maybe he was just that kid who always seemed angry, or picked on, or just somebody who seemed different. Hindsight....what a powerful word.

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. conclusion

I think the May crowning convinced Sister Alberta that she was really dealing with a pack of demons and subversives. Things went from bad to worse for all of us as the school year was drawing to a close. Sister Lucy was shoved a little harder as Sister Alberta yelled "PLAY!", the already devout but hungry Paul Shennos ate his homemade scones with a touch of indigestion, while Sister watched him and shook her head. She watched Hipsy closely every time the poor thing walked in between the desks, just waiting for her full skirt to do more damage. The talk of serpents in the classroom became an everyday disussion as the asthmatic Jane Burd tried in vain to breathe normally. Donald was busier than ever opening and closing the door about a hundred times a day, and Sister was more prone than ever to fly off the handle.

Lots of Catholic school survivors tell stories about how they'd get in trouble in school, and when their parents found out, they'd be in double trouble. My family had a different take on that. When my mother was in the seventh grade, Sister Constancia (red flag....scary name) told the class not to hem and haw if they didn't know an answer, but instead they should just say " I don't know". My mother took her at her word, and when she was asked something, my mother replied that she didn't know the answer. Sister responded my cracking her. My mother promptly gathered up her things and went home and her mother made a phone call. Later that day Sister Constancia and another nun (they always traveled in pairs) came to the house and apologized. Like mother like son.

One hot morning in June, when all of the nuns in the building must have been ready to tear their wimples off from the heat, Sister Alberta turned on my quiet, always under the radar, girlfriend Barbara. Whatever she had done struck Barbara as unusually funny. Sister was in no mood for shenanigans that day, and started to refer to Barbara as a "monkey". (now as I just typed that word, I had to chuckle ). For some reason that STILL makes me laugh. Well that's just what happened on that summer day, and Sister Alberta went nuts. She flew down the aisle of laughers as the desk lids rose for protection and started to beat me up. It felt sort of like being attacked by a giant crow or something...arms flying, black and white all over me. Quick as a flash I grabbed my books and stood up...heading for the door. " Wetfeld...get the principal"...as the race began. Somehow she made it to the door before I did and stretched her arms out to block my exit. Just then my friend Jeff who sat near the front of the room yelled something that I'm sure may have already taken him to Hell. Sister Alberta whirled around to pounce on him, and Ray yelled "RUN ! " and quick as a flash I was gone.

I took a leisurely walk home, even stopped at Greasy Nick's for a coke, and arrived to find my Mom immediately on alert. "Did she hit you?" she snapped.

"Yep...because I laughed when she called Barbara a monkey" (smile again).

My Dad must have come home for lunch that day, because the two of them were on their way to the school very quickly. My mother says that they met with the culprit and the principal in the office, where Sister Alberta sat like a sweet little old lady with her hands in her lap. My mother still remembers that when Sister said " your son and I had a little falling out this morning" my mother had the urge to push her off her chair. (honest). Apologies followed of course, the principal confiding that they'd had "a lot of complaints".

I returned the next morning and was treated like the Golden Boy. I was praised for my musical skills, ignored when I'd laugh, and must have represented the final link between the classroom and the old nun's home. We all did graduate...even Ray who refused to bring a duster, and my final report card was a complete shock. Prior to our little "falling out". my grades were always kinda borderline, c's, a b or two, and "needs improvement" in all the social categories. I graduated that year with a perfect record. Straight A's..all "very goods", all a result of the monkey incident. Of course I was then placed in the highest level freshman class that Fall...with all the real brains from the parishes that fed into our High School, and was totally lost.

To say that my eighth grade experiences were memorable is an understatement....obviously. We had a 25 year reunion, and a great turn out several years ago. We talked and laughed until four in the morning, and after a few cocktails I disappeared and returned in a nun's habit that I'd made, carrying a yardstick and a cane. There was a quick moment of absolute shock..(terror?) as I began barking for Wetfeld to open the door....I swear he started to jump.

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. PART 9

All hell broke loose at the May Crowning. The culminating event for the month of May was the crowning of the statue of Mary in the church. There was fierce competion for the role of the May Queen, who would often wear a wedding gown or something similar, and be surrounded by five or six runners up. I used to think the whole thing was fixed. Since Sister Alberta was the eighth grade teacher, it fell to her to organize and oversee the grand event for the entire parish. In those days, an event at the church brought everyone out to participate....maybe decorating the church, fashioning wreaths of flowers for the girls to wear, planning the reception, etc. There was always a grand procession, all the girls in the school of course, the second graders who had just made their first holy communion, all the choirs, and of course the queen and her court. All the nuns must have met in a secret conclave to chose my friend Susan as the May queen...I don't remember casting a ballot, but I do remember thinking it was rigged, but the nuns all liked Susan, popular vote be damned.

Once again math, science, history,and geography were tossed aside as we had hymns to learn and processions to practice. Sister Alberta commandeered the pulpit, had Donald test the microphone, and began whipping us into a version of the Nazi Youth. I can still hear her voice booming instructions about how the girls should drop their rose petals. " one, two,three, DROP ! one,two,three DROP!", while the choirs sang " Earth is darksome, we are weary, Satan lays his snares for all". ( Maybe that's where Rick Santorum picked up the Satan stuff). Sister's voice thundered above the music while the girls arms glided up and down with the petal drop. At one point she barked the following " Should anyone faint, step over the body and continue the procession". Some of the younger kids looked like they were heading to the gallows.

When the much anticipated big day finally arrived Sister was feeling the pressure. My cousin and I got to the church early, donned our cassocks and surpluses that our mothers had ironed, and began to line up. Now sister had been stressing the proper attire for the girls for weeks..."pastel dresses"...and as the girls began to arrive she was at the microphone clucking her approval as the soft shades of the rainbow started filling in. Then Jane arrived. Poor Jane had never recovered from the taffy apple incident, could never look Sister in the eye, and had developed a tremor ever since she'd arrived taffy apple-less in the Fall. Jane looked very fashionable, and absolutely doomed in her new black poodle skirt. Sister lost it. "POODLES! FOR THE BLESSED MOTHER ! POODLES!" I don't know what Jane did..I don't remember her dropping her rose petals...nor do I remember her at all after that fateful day.

What I do remember is how a person's life might ostensibly be ruined....all because of taffy apples and poodles.

THE NUN CRAWL PART TWO

Andrew and I decided to check out the Sheraton hotel where we planned to meet the bus the following night, just to make sure it would all work. No sooner had we entered the lobby when we started seeing quite a few nuns. My first thought was that we'd somehow screwed up the date for the crawl and my heart sank. It was immediately obvious however that what we were encountering were real nuns. They were in town for a convention...all from Puerto Rico as it turned out, all in traditional habits, and all speaking Spanish.

My pal and I settled in with a beer, and chuckled about what might have happened if the crawl and the convention had actually coincided. We pictured the Puerto Rican nuns getting on the bus along with our gang, and ending up at some crazy bar instead of a Vesper service at the Cathedral.

Arriving at the hotel the next night was quite an experience...just watching the nuns coming out of the parking garage and heading straight to the hotel bar for a bracer...a little liquid courage. Since this was about our fourth nun crawl, the hotel staff was somewhat familiar with us, and the guests got into the swing of things...taking pictures and having fun with the nuns. After about 30 minutes I assumed my duties as Mother Superior, blew my whistle, and lined up the convent. We paraded (processed) up the stairs and around the balcony singing Hail Holy Queen. This years bus driver was caught a bit off guard..but soon began to bless herself as each of us boarded, and thus assured herself of a good tip from the sisters.

Andrew and I had created the itinerary which this year included a German beer garden, a charity bingo at a synagogue, a gay bar, and a church that had been transformed into a bar/restaurant. To say that people were surprised when we swarmed through the doors is an understatement....maybe shock and awe would be a better description. When we entered the former church and attempted to march up the center aisle singing, we were halted in our tracks by the maitre d' who pointed his finger at me and said "OUT !"....when I asked why, he responded that "we've had enough protests here about what we've done with this church"...I politely pointed out that we were simply there for a drink.

The poor guy just stood there for a minute, and then said "oh...ok".

Realizing that this pack of nuns might well be angelic in appearance, they would also be as hungry as field hands by the time we got rolling, we always plan a stop somewhere for dinner. One year we stopped at THE OLD COUNTRY BUFFET...where the patrons almost choked on their chicken wings when fifty some tipsy nuns charged the joint. We got a rousing welcome another year at the ORIGINAL HOT DOG in Oakland.

While I'm of course responsible to use my whistle to keep control of the group, our friend George is always the " prefect of discipline" and he does a lousy job every time. With Andrew in charge of entertainment on the bus, he leads the singing, but also brings jello shots..which tend to excite the sisters way too much.

The people we run into on one of these crazy nights really enjoy the spectacle. I guess at first they're not really sure just what's going on, but very quickly catch the drift. We spread a lot of good cheer, and probably give a lot of people something to talk about when they get home. This year as the bus dropped us off back at the hotel I walked past a slightly drunk young woman who was standing by the hotel entrance. She was watching us all head for the parking lot and I heard her say " Jesus...they're EVERYWHERE ! "

THE NUN CRAWL PART ONE

Years ago I started collecting owls, and it didn't take long at all for me to get owled-out...they were taking over my life. Every holiday I got owls from people, owl napkins, owl toothpaste holders, owl lamps, and owl stationery. It got to the point where I was afraid to open a present, and dreaded the souvenirs I'd get when anyone came home from a trip. Eventually I sold my vast collection at a garage sale for a dollar, and cleansed my life forever of all things owl.

My owl period ended about ten years ago as I gradually entered into my nun period. I think it may have begun when the nuns threw their traditional habits into the dumpsters in favor of short black skirts and why bother veils. ( Can't you still spot a nun from a mile away...even in her new disguise? ). Some of my more twisted friends would dress up for Halloween as REAL nuns, and we were always a big hit at parties or in bars. I have quite a collection of pictures of my friends dressed as nuns from years past.

About five years ago I came up with the idea that one person dressed as an old fashioned nun is always funny, but a whole pack of them is even funnier.

I recruited one of my craziest friends to help organize a big group of people to don a habit and join us on Halloween. Andrew is the kind of a friend that I can call and say " I have a really crazy idea" and he'll say "count me in" even before I tell him what it is. I love Andrew.

We discussed suitable transportation for the sisters, and decided on a yellow school bus....seats for 57 nuns...and hopefully a driver with a sense of humor.

I of course was the self appointed Mother Superior, and immediately began to direct the requirements for a proper habit. None of that new militant lesbian look...nor any colors but black and white. Beards and mustaches were fine, as the Italian nuns had always been acceptable. Five yards of black material and a piece of poster board and a stapler would make a fine habit.

By the time Halloween arrived we had our 57 nuns chomping at the bit, and a waiting list of postulants should a vacancy occur. Andrew and I planned the evening, choosing unsuspecting venues where the bus would stop and the nuns would descend joyfully singing "How do you solve a problem like Maria?"

WELCOME TO THE TWILIGHT ZONE !

Welcome to the twilight zone, where all male groups of people discuss very important issues for women, and a man in Virginia can mandate vaginal probes for women who are considering an abortion. Welcome to a zone where large numbers of men in gorgeous colorful gowns tell 98% of women that using birth control is sinful, and that people who are not heterosexual are mentally ill.

Make yourself comfortable here, while people like Stacey Campfield in Tennessee push legislation to forbid saying the word "gay" to anyone younger than fourteen, while proclaiming that AIDS was caused by man on monkey relations. Rick Santorum prepared you for this with his comparison of homosexuality to bestiality.

Sit back and relax while civil rights for a minority are given by the government, and then taken away by the majority. You might even see Rosa Parks sent to the back of the bus again, if the majority prevails. Chris Christy demonstrated this with a quick dip into his bigoted inkwell.

Meet the new leader here in the zone...he'll tell you all about the phony theology that has been spreading because of people like Barrack Obama, how caring for the earth is so ridiculous, how public schools ought to be closed so that local communities can provide a much better system, with parents making the major decisions. Just ignore the fact that getting parents to show up for an open house is often a major challenge.

Here in the zone, without the current phony theology that Mr Santorum is about to change, women won't be bothered with time consuming neo natal care, Catholics who work in drugstores that sell condoms will be required to quit there jobs, and all those pesky gay soldiers who are fighting for their country will be sent back home.

The upcoming attack on Iran that Mr S. would be so happy to have commence with no regard for "collateral damage" ( innocent victims ) will have to take center stage here in the zone....thus it will be important that you stop using birth control ( a VERY BAD THING ), because we are going to need lots more people.

Stay focused everyone! Strap your pets to the roof of your cars, and stay tuned for more news flashes. It's a whole new world.

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. PART 8

The big day finally arrived. Mother Kenneth's visit was brief to say the least, I think she must have told her driver to keep the car running. I don't remember her saying anything, just sort of breezing in and then departing. Sister Alberta was obviously disappointed that Mother didn't even notice the shiny doorknobs or the spotless floor. As Donald held his beloved door open for Mother Kenneth I heard Ray say something like " that's it? ". Sister Alberta then went into a discussion about how cleanliness is next to Godliness, which was followed by yet another prize-winning tidbit to write in our notebooks. "There are certain parts of the body that should be touched for cleaning purposes only". I think that was about the extent of our sex education for the year.

Now it's important to note that we really did experience things like the Pagan Baby fund drives. On Ash Wednesday as we all walked around with our black smudges on our foreheads, we were treated to learning some wonderful Lenten songs, a favorite of mine being " I see my Jesus Crucified "....."those cruel nails I drove them in, each I pierced him with my sin....that thorny crown,t'was I who wove, when I despised his gracious love". All the older nuns were into that S and M stuff, as Sister Alberta cranked up her doomsday forecast for people who were already on the path to the fires below. She opened all the old wounds...like the taffy apple debacle, the young wolf who had threatened our lives, along with the elusive man with a knife. She admonished the laughers about mocking God, and did a whole number about the deadly sin of gluttony while she stared at Paul who was spreading his homemade elderberry jam on his croissant. She passed out our little tin banks with a picture of Jesus sweating blood in the Garden of Olives, and encouraged anyone who was hoping to graduate to start filling that sucker up pronto. I'm sure it was Ray who asked her when the babies would actually be delivered to the school. Sometimes her response to him had lately consisted of just a shove...just like she did every morning to the trembling Sister Lucy.

As the pall of Lent was gradually lifted and we began to approach the month of May, all of the attention began to focus on our May altar. For you non-catholics (pagans, publics, etc. ) That was an altar decorated with a statue of Mary and surrounded by flowers that we'd all bring to school. Every classroom had one, and there was some fierce competion between the nuns to have the most spectacular May altar. Sister Alberta became a real Nazi when we started construction...Donald was entrusted to buy blue and white crepe paper at the hardware store, and we were all encouraged to start raping the landscape for flowers and "decorative greens". We began practicing Marian hymns, dropped any pretense of academics, and moved furniture around to created a suitable display that would be over the top as far as May altars go.

We took a break one day to vote for some awards that were part of the eighth grade experience. Donald Whitfeld was a shoe-in for the American Legion award, since there was no one in the Diocese of Pittsburgh who could hold a candle to him when it came to opening and closing a door. The show of hands was impressive, and Donald won the coveted award. Next Sister Alberta announced that we would vote for "most popular" student. This took us off guard of course, but people started raising their hands and according to the nomination rules would say "Sister Alberta I nominate so and so" and Sister would write that name on the board. After about three such nominations, I think it was Eugene who raised his hand and nominated yours truly. Sister slammed her hand down on her desk immediately and shouted " ILLEGAL". That struck even the non-laughers as both shocking and very funny. Thus I experienced the actual reality of my chances for fame...as long as Sister Alberta was running the elections.

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. PART 7

The day before our trip to "THE BUHL" my friend Ray was still asking Sister Alberta how many suitcases he could bring on the bus. That necessitated another entry into our notebooks.."NO ONE WILL BRING LUGGAGE TO THE BUHL!". The trip as I recollect came off rather seamlessly, except for Eugene who was caught kissing his girl friend Donna while the rest of us were craning our necks to see where the stars were aligned on the first Christmas Eve, Sister said that she wasn't surprised...just disappointed. From then on we prayed for the boy and girl who had mocked Baby Jesus. We spent about an hour watching static electricity make our hair stand up, and the rest of the time watching Chippy Henderson inhale in the men's room.

Sister hadn't really been herself for the last few weeks...ever since the dreaded announcement came that MOTHER KENNETH was coming. Now other than the Second Coming,or the arrival of the anti-Christ, nothing was more anticipated than a visit from MOTHER KENNETH. The entire school was scrubbed, polished, and decorated. The hallways were filled with kids on their knees with pencil erasers trying to remove scuff marks. Sister Alberta decided to resurrect her favorite "welcome" bulletin board letters and chose Carol Jenkins to carefully install the greeting above the chalkboard. Now Carol was an odd young lady...having "developed" in about the third grade. She was very tall and thin, with somewhat of an aloof air about her, punctuated by a Madonna like upper torso that she accentuated with colorful angora sweaters.

The nuns would glance at her rocket-like protrusions, but never said anything.

Carol got right to work, but was soon stopped in her tracks and severely reprimanded for not placing the pins in the old pinholes. Carol's job was terminated mid welcome and the faithful doorman replaced her. Carol was then branded as a "destructive thing" whose fall from grace was all too public. I don't ever remember her speaking again.

We all had a personal duster to use, except Ray (who was presumably not going to graduate because of his refusal to bring one), and all academic concerns were tossed to the wind while we spent our days cleaning..for the visit. All of this was interrupted however by another "lockdown". One sunny afternoon Sister glanced out the window and once again froze. Staring straight ahead she called for immediate quiet, motioning to Donald Witfeld to come to her side. While we all sat motionless she quietly announced that there was a man with a knife trying to hide behind a tree near the playground. Even though none of us could discern anything, Sister quietly hatched a plan. Donald of course was chosen to save the day, and was once again dispatched to fetch Father. She instructed him to take cover in the forsythia bushes, and move slowly ( reminiscent of the savages that she'd been reading to us about ). Ray volunteered that this unseen person was probably an escaped killer, and Sister nodded agreement. We were instructed not to breathe, and poor Donald crept silently out the door. Watching him slither through the shrubbery was hilarious...like a silent movie...and even the likes of Paul the breakfast eater and Hippsy Gibbon, and Carol with the rockets started to laugh. All hell broke loose. The gales of laughter from our classroom reached such a level that it even brought the principal in. Donald was leaping like a gazelle from bush to bush...and the bewildered Sister Laura said " What's he doing?" Sister Alberta told her about the killer behind the tree...Sister Laura looked out the window and said " I don't see anyone"...gave Sister Alberta a really strange look...and left. Donald suddenly reappeared, leaves in his hair and unusually disheveled, reporting that Father said he didn't see anyone. ( Father rarely got "involved").

Sister turned the lights back on...glared at Donald for about an hour, and then stood up and began reading to us. " TWO HUNDRED WAGONS",,,,,and once again I got home around three o'clock and my Mom said "How was school?"...

and I would say once again " You wouldn't believe it".

PRESIDENT RICK SANTORUM

With Rick Santorum's meteoric rise in the GOP race, I guess it would be wise to start making some preparations. No doubt there will be major changes for a great many of us come next January. Mr. S. has already made it clear that he will re-instate " Don't Ask Don't Tell", so all the gay service men and women who have come out of the closet this year will simply have to go back in...and everyone involved will just have to pretend that nobody heard or said anything. Rick says that straight soldiers might "feel uncomfortable" being around gay soldiers, sort of like some people feel uncomfortable with interracial marriages.

Mr. S.will no doubt also work hard to overturn and nullify any gay marriages that have occurred recently. (forget those man on dog comments...that was just to make a point.) He feels that if people like me and my partner of 30 years were to be officially married all of society would be threatened....Huh?

Women ought to be prepared to give up their careers and stay home where they belong...Rick tries to pin that position on the soon to be first lady, but I think he really believes the same thing. He did write that in his book.

Young people will no longer be able to be on their parent's insurance policy, and if you have a pre-existing condition, good luck getting insurance. Actually since Mr. S. also plans to start a war with Iran, I'd expect lots of young kids to be shipping out to the battle lines again. Birth control will be a thing of the past and since He feels that sex is only okay if the goal is procreation...(really?) We all know that birth control is also the real cause of the problems with Social Security. The world really needs more people, we all know that too. Rick has always pushed to tie S.S. with the stock market...the market tumbles...you lose your shirt..that's all. Suck it up.

All in all, I guess things won't be too bad...unless you happen to be gay, sick,female, non-Catholic, or young. Dig out your Dad's old sweater vest and Hail to the Chief !

VALENTINES DAY

February 14th was always an extra special day for our family. My Mom and Dad were married 70 years ago on Valentines Day. My Dad died 12 years ago, and my Mom still cries when we talk about him. They were romantically in love their whole lives. He never failed to kiss her when he was coming or going, and if their song "It's been a long long time" came on the radio or TV they'd get up and dance. She told me once about how much she missed him holding her at night.

When we were kids, my  crazy cousin and I grabbed any excuse to throw a surprise party, and every year we'd celebrate my parent's anniversary along with  his Mom and Dad's which occurred on Feb. 7th. My Mom says that they'd dread coming home and seeing the draperies all closed....a sure sign that my cousin and I had decorated the entire first floor with red and white streamers and those "chains" you make from strips of construction paper. Closed draperies meant that we'd also been at it in the kitchen, where we'd make everything we could think of...jello, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, toast, old fruitcake from Christmas with chocolate sauce, celery with peanut butter...( get the drift..?) ANYTHING we could find.

My Mom and Dad seemed to actually encourage my larger than life imagination...from the get go, while my Aunt would just keep saying things like " Oh my GOD ! " while my uncle and my Dad would crack a beer, and eat a hot dog. We have some of those old movies of course, and almost all of them feature one of these SURPRISE! parties. My cousin and I flit around like crazy little pixies...pointing to the giant cards we'd made, or dancing with each other...just to get everyone in the mood.

I was out last night buying cards and flowers for my Mom and for my partner...I love all the hype...all the political incorrectness of the consumerism...bring it on, I'm a sucker for all of it.

I still have to find one of those gigantic hearts filled with candy...even though I can already hear the groans of the household..."oh we shouldn't be eating this stuff". I will of course be undaunted....I was already looking for Irish soda bread recipes and eyeing those tacky bright green shamrocks for the front door.....bring it on...I'll take a dozen.

Celebrate your loves today....past, present, and still to come....and always remember that it's never too late for happily ever after.

END THIS WAR

I heard an interview with two military officers the other day and both were saying that the Taliban is winning the fight in Afghanistan. They talked about "securing" a town or an area and moving on only to find the Taliban in control when they returned. They both said that no matter what you hear, things are going badly in this undeclared war. It's interesting that the Taliban used to be the good guys, and the US helped them fight the Russians, and even met with them in Texas not all that long ago.

Who in their right mind believes that when the US finally leaves, whether that is in two years or twenty years..or tomorrow, that this third world country is going to be in any better shape than it is right now. The whole world knows that the government is corrupt, and the dream of a real democracy is nothing more than just that...a dream.

Just what do the families who bring their loved ones home from that God-forsaken country in a flag draped casket believe that they sacrificed their precious blood for? What have so many young Americans lost their eyes or their arms and legs for? Is this worth continuing? Other than those "generals on the ground" who love the "mission" and the battle, why would anyone, including the President think it's necessary to continue a campaign that stands no chance of becoming a "victory"?

The city of New York wants to hold a parade to honor the veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan, but the Pentagon wants to wait until the troops come home from Afghanistan in a year or so. I have a solution....bring them all home now....while they can all still walk.

        

                                MORE SISTER ALBERTA ON THURSDAY!

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. part 6

My friend Ray slipped quietly into our school when we were in the seventh grade, and under the gentle wings of Sister Marie Elise. Ray got to experience an Ingrid Bergman-Loretta Young kind of a nun that year and while Sister taught us all how to dance, read some of the great novels with us, and even put up with us putting our index fingers out so that the tip of her veil would slide over them as she glided up the aisle. She smelled like Jergens Lotion. ( Sister Alberta's scent was more like 20 mule team Borax ). We loved Sister Marie Elise, and Ray's quiet personality was safely accepted into the classroom. Little did he know that the following year he'd be thrown into the lions den.

Ray wasn't and still isn't one to take it lying down. As the eighth grade classroom began the mass descent into madness, Ray emerged as a behind the scenes protagonist. He made a decision early on to fight fire with fire...if Sister Alberta was going to act like a strange and unpredictable maniac, he would likewise act like a straight-faced strange and unpredictable hilarious eighth grade boy. He was of course admitted to our Friday Mickey Mouse club (he loved the extra bonus of playing Spin the Bottle) and was the first member to suggest that we begin to strike back. One of his plans was to have everyone cough at exactly 11:00 on Monday morning...then at 11:30 we were all to drop a pencil or ruler. He also announced the publication of an underground newspaper that would carry the weeks more memorable moments with Sister. His paper was called the ATREBLA TSEP ( ALBERTA PEST ) and Johnny Sessions was appointed official photographer...and would take pictures of Sister Alberta during the day especially when she was at her best...stomping on the floor above Sister Evarista or beating up the pump organ or one of us. We loved Ray..for his daring and creative plans to juice up the scene ( just what we needed), and we were all curious to see just how far off the deep end we were all about to go.

Perhaps now it's easier to see why I fought off my Mom's suggestions that my brother and I stay home on cold winter days...I didn't want to miss anything. Injecting Ray into the scene suddenly plunged us into the lions mouth. At precisely 11:00 the following Monday while Sister was sitting at her desk looking into the fluorescent lights we all began to cough. Sister Alberta shot up into the air like a jack-in-the-box and started swinging at anything and anyone in sight. Johnny immediately began snapping away with his tiny camera, Ray continued to cough as though he had consumption ( of course inviting Sister to start shaking him...not to save his life, but to release the demon that she was sure controlled him ). Sister Alberta was beside herself. My head was of course in my desk, along with the other rows of "laughers" which had recently grown to three. Ray and Johnny were always able to keep a straight face. The laughers were doomed. Ray called off the 11:30 pencil and ruler drop that day...I think Johnny was out of film, and Ray didn't want to miss some good shots for the paper.

Ray tortured Donald Witfeld as well. He liked to yell "Open the Door" just to see if Donald would leap into action...and once in awhile he'd get him to at least start to move. While Sister Marie Elise had read to us from great stories like Gone With The Wind, Sister Alberta had a book about "Savages" that she'd read from at very odd times, like in the middle of arithmetic. She'd always lose her place, and start each time with the line " TWO hundred wagons heading into the west" TWO hundred....." Every time she'd read that Ray would raise his hand and ask " How many wagons were there? ". She'd say TWO hundred. A few minutes later he'd ask again " How many wagons did you say?" It was really easy to lose all sense of reality in that environment. When Sister read about what she pronounced as a "guffer hole", (presumably a gopher) Ray would ask " what was in the hole? ", she'd say "guffers" and he'd say he never heard of one, then ask again how many wagons there were. On and On it would go. A few of the girls would sometimes start to cry, and kids like me just kept the desk lids open and our heads inside on our rarely used history books.

While we all accepted the fact that we were living dangerously close to our own black and white Mount Vesuvius, there was an occasional truce called, such as when Sister announced that we'd be going on a field trip. That was rare in our Catholic school, I remember very few of them, but the announcement was made that we'd be going to the Buhl Planetarium in a few weeks. Now the Planetarium was about 5 miles from our school, so we;d be taking a yellow school bus, and staying for about an two hours. The preparations however looked more like plans to take the Lusitania to Europe for the season. Every day for weeks we wrote in our note books " No one will bring luggage to the Buhl", or " Everyone will eat a hardy breakfast before we leave for the Buhl."...never the Planetarium, always the BUHL...now of course Ray would ask her every day what we should pack in our suitcases. We prayed for Ray a lot....usually as an added Hail Mary" for the boy who will answer to God".

I plan to consult my treasured copy of the ATREBLA TSEP for next Thursday's installment of Sister Alberta

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. part 5

Amleto Giovanni Cicognani was the apostolic delegate to the United States. That's almost the only thing I learned in the eighth grade, except of course the 15 mysteries of the rosary, and that a dead nun's feet look like wax. Each row of us was assigned a paragraph to memorize in each subject, and most of the day was spent with the recitation of those paragraphs. The entire day was of course punctuated with Sister Alberta's frequent and oddly timed musings which we duly recorded in our notebooks...."the smile is beautiful, but the grin is ugly"...or " anyone who does not bring a duster to school will not graduate from the eighth grade"...or a particular favorite of mine..."anyone who does not have a coat hanger by Friday does not love the Infant of Prague".

With the disappearance of the pump organ key, the atmosphere in our classroom darkened, as we were seen more and more as a pack of grinning and Infant hating thieves. I personally believe that I have knowledge of the true thief, but have decided to take that information to my grave for fear of annihilating a middle aged man. (enough said). One afternoon while Sister was conducting a boy's choir rehearsal in our classroom she became strangely vicious while her black nun shoes ( remember them?) were pumping away while we sang " My Jesus say what wretch has dared" ( a cheery lenten number ) when suddenly she stood up and smacked the organ with her hymn book and shouted " BLASTED ORGAN ! " Someone in the back row yelled something like " BAD BAD ORGAN ! "....he got the next smack.

Donald Witfeld had mastered his art by now. No sooner would sister begin to say " Witfeld OPEN THE DOOR" and he'd fly like a jack rabbit and swing it open, he'd then only sit halfway on his seat, anticipating his next command to "CLOSE THE DOOR Witfeld". I saw Donald at a funeral home a few years ago and the moment he saw me he said " I know what you're going to say to me"...( I also noticed a little later that he was jumping up every time someone approached the funeral home entrance ) He was still spry and well trained.

Another poor soul who was victimized by Sister Alberta was Sister Lucy. Now Sister Lucy was young and frail, quietly teaching the fourth grade, and reluctantly playing the organ for the boy's choir every morning, while Sister Alberta conducted. I think any nun who had taken a lesson or two at the piano quickly became the church organist in those days. I think Sister Lucy probably had three lessons on a Hammond organ, but she somehow ended up on the bench. As we stood waiting to begin the Requiem Mass for the Dead,which we sang most mornings, Sister Lucy would sit with her slender, nearly translucent hands poised and trembling above the keys. No sooner would the priest start out to the altar than Sister Alberta would swing her arm out and nearly shove Sister Lucy off the bench shouting " PLAY ! ". Sister Lucy must have dreaded that eight o'clock Mass like the plague.

The only living person who could intimidate Sister Alberta was the dreaded, all powerful, legendary, and once a year visiting MOTHER KENNETH. Sister Alberta knew she could take down a Sister Evarista, or beat up on Sister Lucy every morning, but she'd prove to be no match for the mysterious MOTHER KENNETH. By the end of that school year however, another woman would emerge and prove to be just as powerful and fear-inducing as MK, that woman turned out to be my very own mother.

MY GARDEN

I've had a garden for as long as I can remember. I've loved flowers for as long as I can remember as well. When I made my First Communion we were led into church by an eighth grade girl who carried a tall white staff that was all decorated with white lilies and carnations, and that's what I recall most clearly from that big day for seven year olds. As I got older I'd save my carnation from my lapel after every dance. Neither my Mom or my Dad were really gardeners, but it's always seemed to be in my blood.

My garden(s) today always have a path that meanders through the flowers, with a bench here and there to take a break, which I do more often than I used to. I have quite a few archway trellis' that are covered with blue morning glories and yellow climbing roses. I have a mix of annuals and perennials, but my favorite things to grow are tropical plants,,,,palms, gardenias,hibiscus,camellias,and night blooming jasmine. I dig these out in the fall and bring them indoors, with the aid of a dollie.

My partner and I bought a little cottage on the shores of Lake Erie about fifteen years ago, and included in the deal was almost half an acre of land across the street....just waiting in the full sun for me to start creating another garden. I laid out my paths and expanded them through the years, planted 500 daffodils, and an equal number of tulips which the moles and voles promptly devoured. Nobody eats the daffodils.

My garden is sentimental. It's filled with ancient peonies from my dear cousin Janet, with tall blue ageratum that my friend Kel grows for me every year, with forsythia from my Godmother's backyard, and jasmines from Elliott. When Woof and I sit there on a beautiful Spring afternoon, I feel surrounded by old friends, including a curly willow tree that I started from a little branch in one of my Dad's funeral arrangements.

I can get pretty riled up about politics, and a bunch of other things (surprise surprise) but my garden never fails to soothe me, recharge my battery, and make me feel hopeful. After an afternoon of pulling weeds, watering, trimming, planting, staking and mulching, I love to take a leisurely stroll through my creation with a glass of red wine, a brown dog with a warm hide, and a sense that once again all's right with the world.

ONE MILLION MOMS = ONE MILLION HOMOPHOBES

I never heard of this pack of homophobic Moms until last week. They're on the rampage about Ellen Degeneres being a spokeswoman for the J.C. Penney company...they don't think she represents those yukky "family values". Just hearing those two words turns my stomach. So far the company is sticking to their guns, and says they have no intention to replace Ellen. On their website this radical bunch of bigots is also encouraging people to contact Macy's because their wedding ads also feature a picture of two grooms.

At my age, these kinds of nasty, small minded, regressive attacks just make me angry, but my concern is about what these kinds of messages do to young kids and anyone else who is struggling with their sexual identity. You know how a black person's ears will pick up a subtle hint of racism...like the comments about the "food stamp president", or an overweight person will hear even a mumbled word about "fat", well I think the same thing goes for homophobia, and this Million Mom's group isn't even subtle. The message is clear from them that there is something VERY wrong about being gay. This group has also campaigned against  DANCING WITH THE STARS (Chaz Bono) and MODERN FAMILY (one couple is gay).

Whether it's the Archbishop of Minnesota who has inserted a prayer into the liturgy that speaks about "defending marriage" or the Pope saying that homosexuals are "intrinsically disordered", or the teacher who hears the word "fag" and doesn't say anything about it, or people like Rick Santorum who would reinstate Don't ask Don't Tell', the damage gets done. There are so many young confused kids taking their own lives because of intolerance, condemnation, and maybe just that one instance where they feel ashamed of themselves that pusheds them over the edge,  I think it's about time we acknowledge who is responsible for these untimely deaths.

My heart goes out to any kid who has one of these "one million Moms"...I hope they also have some healthier, kinder, more loving people in their lives. I hope too that the right-wing whacko groups like the Million Moms will some day take responsibility for the damage they've done...and maybe for the blood on their hands.

THE POWER OF THE PEOPLE

Several months ago SIXTY MINUTES did a segment about insider trading in congress. It was a real eye opener, and both the democrats and the republicans were pretty well nailed. Seems the information that congress is privy to provides tips that generate a lot of money in the stock market. They interviewed a member of congress who had introduced a bill to stop the practice, but he'd had no luck getting anyone to sponsor it. Well, in the State of the Union address the president talked about the insider trading and his plan to prohibit it, and the congress actually was able to pass the bill. Funny that once the public heard about it there was enough pressure to actually do something.

The Komen/Planned Parenthood battle was pretty much resolved last week when once again the people spoke...flooded the offices with their protests, and sure enough. the controversial decision was reversed. In the same vein, the PIPA and SOPA ( about on line piracy ) bills in congress were stopped in mid stream when the public got involved and their voices were heard.

The "Arab Spring" was and continues to be about the people speaking up about wrongs that they want to make right. Major changes in many countries are only happening because the citizens are taking to the streets...not just SOME citizens...but almost ALL the citizens.

My feathers get ruffled any time Dick Cheney emerges to snarl out his ongoing defense of the war in Iraq. He sticks to his guns and says that "everyone' believed that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction, hence we had to attack Iraq. I marched in the snow with 5000 people in Pittsburgh who didn't believe it, and millions of others all over the world agreed. Now lots of people never liked that war, and I wonder if ALL of them had taken to the streets.......?

Writing one letter to a congressman or congresswoman might seem insignificant, but millions of letters can't be easily ignored. I never underestimate the value of an email to Washington. With all the controversy surrounding the OCCUPY movement one thing is clear. Because of it, the conversation turned to money, and how much it determines everyone's future. I don't think their protests were in vain. They started an inportant discussion in this country.

On a lighter note...since my favorite people to pick on are Ricky Santorum and Dickie Cheney...Wanda Sykes said once that she told her two little girls that if two cars should stop and ask them to get in....and there was a stranger in one car and Dick Cheney in the other...they should get into the car with the stranger.

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. PART 4

It was the best of times and it was the worst of times. I always hated school....took after my mother who still says sometimes she wakes up so glad that she doesn't have to go to school. She always encouraged my brother and I to stay home when it was cold...or rainy. She'd just write a note, and we'd sometimes have to argue with her that we should or had to go to school. Suddenly, in the eighth grade, I couldn't WAIT to get back to that three ring circus. All the "laughers" quickly banded together into what we called the "Mickey Mouse Club", and we'd gather every Friday night to eat pizza (chef Boyardi), play Spin the Bottle and recount stories about Sister Alberta from the previous week.

The battles between Sister Alberta and Sister Evarista were both frequent and fascinating. The two of them shared not only the one set of hymnals, but also a little pump organ that had to be carted from Sister Evarista's chamber of horrors directly below our classroom, up to our bright and sunny insane asylum above.

One day out of the blue, Sister Alberta decided to have a boys choir rehearsal and dispatched Donald Witfeld to get the books from Sister Evarista. Witfeld sprang to action and returned minutes later...sans books, and a message from Sister. " She said she's using them"...the reply to which was " Well tell her that I need them....NOW". Off he flew again, only to sheepishly tell her in a shaky little voice that Sister said she could not have them. At this point Sister Alberta proceeded to the center of our classroom, shoved a few desks and their inhabitants aside, hiked up the bottom of her habit, and stomped on the floor like she was trying to put out a brush fire. The desk lids flew open and howls could be heard from aisle to aisle. Little did Sister know however that soon she would once again have bigger fish to fry. The pump organ was eventually delivered along with the hymn books, and it was clearly evident that one of the keys was missing. All hell broke lose.

Sister Evarista denied that the damage occurred under her watch, and many of us thought they the two of them might actually begin to wrestle. At this point any sort of scholastic program was tossed to the wind for at least a week. People were lined up to take another oath...coats were searched, every desk was ransacked and the search for the missing key turned Sister Alberta apoplectic. She had her suspicions..ranging from Hipsy Gibbon to the trembling Donald Witfeld whose door duties increased dramatically as Sister's blood pressure skyrocketed. Many of Sister's inquisition tactics struck me as hilarious, and as a consequence there were extra prayers added to our daily routine...and many of them targeted me. " Now we'll say an extra Hail Mary for the boy who doesn't trust Saint Anthony" or " Now we'll say an extra prayer for the boy who doesn't like the Blessed Mother". I guess I felt a little awkward praying for myself, and one day stood with my hands in a really sloppy "prayer position", I was aware that Sister was quietly gliding through the aisles towards me, but I was still startled to hear the rustle of her veil directly behind me as she said very softly..."you demon".

SISTER ALBERTA PART 4 NEXT THURSDAY

SISTER MARY ALBERTA C.D.P. PART 3

As the first few weeks of school unfolded the battle lines became frighteningly clear. Our eighth grade became divided into three groups...the meek and humble victims who sat in shock and awe....the "laughers" or "mockers", who, early on were herded into about three rows together and told to open their desk tops and hide there heads inside whenever they felt the urge to laugh, chuckle, or howl....and the wildly unpredictable Sister Alberta. I say unpredictable because of my crystal clear memory of several of her most memorable moments. My friend Paul was a saintly young man even then, and actually ended up some sort of a cloistered monk (the "cloistered part was undoubtedly due to some PTSD that Sister was responsible for ).

Now all of you members of the true church will remember that when receiving Communion, one had to fast from midnight the night before, so when we attended Mass every morning before school, anyone who went to Communion would then be permitted to bring their breakfast to the classroom and enjoy showing off their holiness to the rest of the class. Paul never missed Communion, and also never brought anything but a gourmet breakfast in a very large lunchbox. Paul's sainted mother packed him little fruit cups, cereal with a jar of milk with waxed paper on top, delicious looking muffins..the whole nine yards. Sister loved Paul,,,held him up as a contrast to people like me...and besides calling for applause for him regularly, she doted on him.

Until one dark day when she turned on him. I never did know what his offense was, but suddenly she stood towering over him and bellowed " Just look at him..".EAT EAT EAT EAT EAT" Poor Paul almost choked on his croissant. From then on he trembled with each bite of his deviled egg.

My experiences of Sister's inexplicable mood changes came about because I played the organ for the girls choir rehearsals. Sister Evarista directed that group of robotic little girls, and Sister Alberta directed the boys choir. There was bad blood from the get go. I would be called out of class several afternoons a week for the choir, and Sister generally liked the idea. If she was in a reasonably sane mood, she would say things like.."Now isn't it nice to see that boy use his talents this way"....or "the rest of you should learn to do something useful like that boy does". Of course when the other shoe fell I often hear her say "show-off" as I exited the classroom.

One of the most destructive turns of the screw undoubtedly was her episode with Jean Gibbon. Jean was a shy import from the public school who joined us around October. I remember her as a Janis Ian type...not part of any group, very self-conscious, not pretty...always under the radar. When Sister asked for us to volunteer our mothers to make something for the choir boy party, Jean uncharacteristically said that her mother would make taffy apples...24 of them. Well BINGO..Jean was the new golden girl. As the date for the party approached everything was Jean Jean Jean...applause was often ringing in the ears of this newly crowned queen of the classroom. It was however, short-lived. The big day arrived and Jean arrived empty handed and loaded with excuses. All hell broke loose that day. For the rest of the year she was tortured...called "hipsy Gibbon" when she brushed against a desk and knocked the pencils off, glared at when words such as "liar" or "ruin" came up, and forever held up as an example of failure. Jean vanished after we graduated...probably off the face of the earth...disgraced forever.

The only thing that ever saved one of us was the explosion that always lurked around the corner, and people like Paul and Jane were often saved by the next crisis. In one such case right after lunch Sister Alberta came storming into the classroom, turned off the lights, told us to be very quiet, and commanded Witfeld to silently sneak out the door and "crawl on your belly if necessary" to the rectory..and "tell Father McDough that there is a young wolf in the playground". I think it was Paul who said softly that what she was seeing was a lab that belonged to one of the kids, he was quickly dismissed, and we were told that we might have to remain in the classroom far into the night until the wolf was destroyed. The desk lids went up as we laughers tried to be quiet, and the rest of the class was told to duck down while the window shades were drawn. Can you imagine what it was like when your Mom and Dad would say "How was school today?" ?

BETRAYAL

I was sitting quietly at my desk one day, in the fourth grade, when I was summoned to the door by two of the eighth grade "patrol boys" and hustled off to the principal's office. There I was grilled about a report that I had taken a hat from a little boy in the second grade. At first I was both terrified and puzzled about the accusation, but then remembered doing exactly that a few days before, at home during a neighborhood game. The principal responded that my best friend had reported the incident to his teacher, but had led her to believe that this incident had taken place on school grounds. I was immediately acquitted of all charges, and my best friend validated my story. The whole incident obviously had a serious impact on me. I remember my Mom saying "why would he do that to you", and I think I pondered that question for years. I couldn't name it at the time, but I clearly felt betrayed.

During my teen years I was really struggling with my sexuality. I was trying indeed to "pray the gay away" and that wasn't helping. A girl who lived in my neighborhood was and still is a good friend of mine used to tell me about a wonderful priest-counselor that she was meeting with weekly ( partly to deal with our semi-romantic relationship at the time)

  she offered to arrange for me to meet with him, and after dealing with a whole lot of anxiety I agreed. I liked him right away, felt very safe, and for the first time in my life, I spoke about my fears that I might be gay. He was very gentle, and very understanding, and non-judgmental, but said he felt that I should see a priest at Duquesne University who would be better equipped to help and guide me. I did see the man at Duquesne, and he did indeed help me accept myself, and all the various what he called "dimensions" of myself. He became my mentor, and a friend.

The girl who had suggested that I meet with her counselor went on to marry and have kids and grandkids, and though we stay in touch, it's mostly cards, and a rare meeting at a funeral home or a wedding. Last year we made plans to meet for lunch. At one point, I remarked that we'd never actually had the BIG conversation about my being gay. I asked her when she figured it out, and she said " Oh, Father____ told me you were gay when we were about sixteen...right after he met with you...told me I shouldn't waste my time". Even typing those words I feel my stomach lurch. She went on to say that she still has him for dinner now and then, and maybe I'd like to see him again sometime. My more militant side (once again) thought (thinks) that maybe I would...to tell him how he betrayed my trust. If I had known back then, I seriously wonder how I could have handled it. That scares me, because I was far from "militant" back then. I was a deeply troubled young man. That priest is an old man now, and I don't have it in me to do anything.

Lastly, my first year in High School, right around the same time, I was still struggling with girlfriends (and boyfriends), and since that first counselor had been helpful, I decided to talk to our guidance counselor...a kindly older Christian Brother who once again was encouraging and kind, and made me feel better...until a few days later when the creepy vice principal who would lurk around the boys locker room called me into his office...put his arms around me and said " I don't want you to think that Brother___ betrayed your confidence, but he told me you're having some difficulties". There I stood, with his hands where they shouldn't have been, feeling the awful and terrifying shame of betrayal.

As a teacher for many years and as a therapist as well, I take the responsibility of confidentiality and trust as Sacred. I read about Jerry Sandusky, and the pedophile priests, and it makes me sick. It also reminds me of the terror and pain and confusion that results from betrayal. My mother always liked and continues to like virtually all of my friends....except for the kid who got me in trouble in the fourth grade.

.