Hey, I'm the guy in the diaper above. What your missing in the picture is 5 more (not puppies) family members. See those pants the older boys are wearing - the ones with holes? Yeah those - they got passed down a few more times before they got to me. That's what I called "hand-me down, down, down, downs." Every now and then I got lucky and got shirts that had most of the buttons still intact. I always felt a little insecure and a bit self conscience about my clothes. So now I'll give you one more little snippet from my fictional memoir.
Chapter 1 First day of Fifth Grade (cont)
All
I wanted was a fair chance for once, but it was always the same thing. Sister Lucilla had only gotten as far as the
“D’s” on her roll call, saw my name and freaked out in front of everybody. I
smiled hoping to please my fifth grade teacher.
It didn’t work. She pulled me from my seat, stuck me in the hallway just
outside the door and stomped down to the head nun in charge of the Catholic
grammar school.
"He’s one of them.” she said protesting to Sister Superior. "Those kids are from the Pit of Abomination and I
don’t think I could survive one more year. Mother Superior, no disrespect, but as
you know, I barely made it through that experience alive.” She pounded her fist
on the desk with every one of her last six words. “No! No! No! Absolutely not!”
She screamed with angry eyebrows in a tone that sounded more and more like
begging ―loud enough for practically everyone in the entire school to
hear.
“Please?”
She finished, pitifully as if waving the white flag, pleading that it just
wasn’t fair. She felt that she had suffered long enough. With her left eye twitching, she despaired that
one more Dahlin would likely push her into an early grave.
Considering
the Dahlins a terminal infestation that had plagued the school for the past 10
years, Sister Superior didn’t even try to argue with her. Instead she just looked with empathy at the
nun (who at 63 ―looked at least 83) and said "life was not fair."
Being excited about the
intake of another Dahlin boy was like being excited about ingesting spoiled food, both
were sure to trigger a bad case of dysentery, bound to last an entire
year.
Pathetically limping away she was determined to pay me back for all
the horrible pranks and crimes my older brothers had committed against her over the past
eight years ―especially the pool incident at the beginning of summer. MORE ABOUT THAT LATER
“Apocalypse. Apocalypse,” She mumbled in defeat under her
breath dragging her weary carcass back down the long corridor. Pausing in front of a statue of Mary,
sister made the sign of the cross and with new resolve, the stout five-foot German tank, pumped her cold
boney fist into the air with the grit of a kamikaze pilot looked up at me and shouted, “Not this year! Not this time!”
