Life is a series of progressions, for a few. We experience, we learn, we adapt, we gain awareness and evolve by degrees from both pleasant and unpleasant encounters.
I’m pleased with my evolution: A freethinking vegan and an idealistic anarchist.
Looking back, I owe much to the nuns in my formative years at St. Mary’s Elementary. It’s only proper I acknowledge their dedication, albeit posthumously. If not for the physical abuse and shaming humiliations weaved into their doctrines of love, it’s possible they’d have converted me into just another lunkhead serving the religious hoax.
What the heck, a few knocks on the noggin, a slap across the face, we were a hardy lot and thicker-skinned than kids today. And although one nun had a right-hook to bring stars to your eyes, it wasn’t much more than we boys gave one another in good-spirited roughhousing. That is until we broke Randolph’s arm.
These holy virgins executed a saintly charge in the initial framework of this aging apostate. Though not as they intended. But in that respect, I am indebted to those wretched whores of the cloth.