Bullied Page 9

  “Mom, what is the service we are going to today?”

  “Patrick, it is called a funeral,” Mom replied.

  “What is a funeral?” I said.

  “A funeral is a service for people that just died and are ready to go to heaven,” she said.

  I already thought I knew what heaven was, a holy place we would all go to someday, so I had no more questions. As we seated ourselves about halfway to the altar, we were just to the left of a long box sitting at the front of the main aisle, near the altar.

  As the service went on, I began to get this feeling inside my head and chest telling me what was inside that box. I felt fear in my stomach as I stared at the box, and could not look away from it. In the middle of the ceremony, when the Priest was swinging a smoking pot on a long chain, those feelings were overwhelming. Suddenly, I screamed, “My Daddy is in there, My Daddy is in there!” Repeating this number of times, I could not stop saying it because I knew my Father was in that box and I wanted him back. My mother picked me up, carried me hurriedly out of the church and scolded me as we walked home.

  “How could you do that to me? You embarrassed me so much,” She said.

  “Your Father was not in that box. What got into you that made you think he was?”

  “I want my Daddy!” I said.

  “Your Daddy has been dead a long time and is already in heaven,” she said.

  “Where is he?” I cried.

  “I will take you to the cemetery where his body is buried and show you, OK?” Mom said.

  That afternoon, Mom put me in the car and took me to see Dad’s grave at the local cemetery. I stared at the name, John Henry Connolly on the headstone for what seemed like a long time. The memory of that headstone showing his name and the recollection of my behavior at the funeral would be with me for the rest of my life.

  I guess she was right that Daddy was not in that box at the church. However, I still had a high emotional memory over the event of discovering his body but remembered not to say or do anything like that again. Going forward, I was sure there were just some things in this temporary world that you could not share with your Mom, or other family members. If you did, they would just get mad at you.

  She took me back home, and, later that evening, I could hear her talking to Grandma and Grandpa in the kitchen about what I had done. They acted shocked about me embarrassing my Mother. They all agreed that it was difficult to understand how I could have imagined that my father was in that casket. According to them, I was too young at the time to remember anything at all about the incident of my Father’s death. Little did they know that the vision of my Fathers grimacing dark face and tightly closed eyes would be with me for all my days.

  Listening to them as they talked, I thought it was very interesting about how the adults always whispered comments about children to each other. We, as children, could always hear them if we tried hard enough and got just a little closer. It seemed very funny the way they all pretended to be such calm, quiet, educated and professional people when they were out in public. However, when they got home, without any other adults watching them, they would act much differently. I did not understand this. Why do people pretend to be one way when they are another? I would ponder this question for the rest of my life.

  As time moved on, being home at Grandma’s house began to be a predictable routine. Mommy would get up in the morning with us, help get us dressed, make us some breakfast and go off to work. When Mom went to work, she brought us downstairs to Grandmothers house. Grandma was always good to us. Nell is very caring, always smiling and paid close attention to us.

  Grandma’s day starts about 6 AM, when she arose each morning with Lawrence, makes him breakfast and gets him off to work. Next, she gets Mary off to school by 8 AM. If our timing is right, coming down from upstairs with Mom, we could say hello to Mary before she goes off to high school.

  Mary took me out for a walk one day and we ran into three boys, about her age that lived in the neighborhood. She told them that I was her nephew, but the boys noticed, that I, like Mary, also had red hair. They started to tease Mary about the fact that since we both had red hair, I must be her child. Mary's face got red and I did not understand why. Later she told me I could not go out with her too much anymore, but I love her anyway even though I am not her baby.

  Time is moving very quickly because, most of the time, we had the same daily schedule for years until I was old enough to attend school. My family is planning to put me in something called kindergarten. Because I am only four years old, this is a little early because they could also put me in school when I was five. Starting me in school this year meant I would be out of the house so Grandma did not have to watch both Lauren and I every day. Lauren would start school the next year. School sounded like fun because there would be many other kids my age there. I always wondered what it would be like to be away from our house during the day.

  For about a year now, after my father left us, our home is that big two-story white house with a long front porch on the bottom and smaller front porch on the second floor. Finally, September arrives and now I am beginning the first days of my schooling at the kindergarten at Saint Ambrose elementary school. These past months have been a peaceful period, with a lot of time spent with my loving family. However, I still miss my Daddy and many of the things about life are still a mystery. I did not know that there were many more terrifying mysteries ahead.

  Chapter VI – The first six years of school

  I am now four and a half years old and just barely old enough to go to school. I do not know what it will be like but the thought of going to kindergarten is very exciting. Today is my first day at Saint Ambrose Catholic elementary school.

  “Are you excited about your first day of school, Pat?” asked Mom.

  “Yes,” I said. Will there be other kids there too?

  “Of course,” Mom replied.

  “My age?”

  “Of course they will be all about your age, Pat,” Mom said.

  “Are they all Catholic, too?” I asked.

  “Kids can’t go there unless they are Catholic. That’s why they call it a Catholic School,” Mom replied while looking for her car keys in the kitchen.

  “Are the teachers going to be those big ladies in the white hats?” I asked.

  “Yes, they are called Sisters of Charity, Pat,” Mom said with a grin.

  “Why are they called Sisters?” I asked.

  “Because they are all in the same Order.” Mom said.

  “What’s an Order?” I asked.

  “It just means they are all in the same group together”, Mom replied and went on, “Boy, you sure have a lot of questions. You are not scared of going to kindergarten, are you?” she asked while looking at me with a steady look into my eyes.

  “A little,” I replied.

  “Don’t worry, the Sisters and the priests will all take very good care of you,” Mom exclaimed, grinning and rolling her eyes.

  “Are the priests going to teach me too?” I asked.

  “Yes, sometimes the priests help the Sisters and teach a class or two,’ Mom replied.

  “Oh,” I replied, thinking it would be something if the holy people that I saw giving Mass in Latin every Sunday also taught me in school.

  “Ok, let’s go down to the car and I will take you to school today. I cannot do this after today because I have to be at work before you start school. You will just have to walk, “OK?” Mom said.

  “OK, Mom”, I replied. Making that four and a half block walk alone every day sounded like a real adventure to me because, up until this point, I do not walk anywhere alone. Lucky for me, Mom and I had made this same walk every Sunday whenever we went to the St. Ambrose Church, which was the next building on the corner just past the St. Ambrose Elementary School.

  We rode in her car from our house on Main Street to the school. The school, in a giant red brick building two stories high, has two large entryways on each side of the rectangular buildi
ng. Each of these entry doors have two large split arched doors, so when both are open children can walk through the doors in a line two or more students wide. Inside the school, there are hard dark tile floors and lighter walls with many windows on each end of the hallway. A stairway on each end of the building provides easy access to the classrooms on the second floor. A long hallway on both floors provides access to the gymnasium bleachers on the first floor with many classrooms easily accessible to the right on the first floor and on both sides of the hall on the second floor.

  Mom parked her car on the street and led me through the entry door on the right. Kindergarten is located on the first floor. After entering the building, we just walked a few feet, turned to the left into the hall, and went into the first classroom on the right. Walking toward the front and center of the classroom with Mom, I see a large desk with a tall Sister of Charity standing behind it watching some children seated in their desks. This Sister is taller than my Mom is and wears a giant white starched hat that looks like a bird in flight. I can only see her face because the dark blue dress, starched white vest and hat concealed her hair and most of her neck. A very long rosary hung from her waist with big beads and a black cross. This was a very unusual creature to me, but Mom and everyone in my family told me that they were very nice, good and holy people.

  “Hello Sister, I am Marguerite Connolly and this is my Son, Patrick,” Mom said as she introduced us to the Sister.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Connolly and you too, Patrick. I am Sister Donna and I will be Patrick’s teacher for Kindergarten this year.

  Mom looked at her watch and said, “Sister, I am on my way to work but I wanted to stop by with Patrick on his first day of school”.

  Sister looked at me again with a kind look and replied, “I am glad you did, Mrs. Connolly, can I show him to his desk and then speak with you briefly?”

  “Ok”, Mom said, “but I have to be going”.

  “It will only take a minute,” Sister said.

  Sister Donna then took my hand and bent over as she walked with me to one of the desks in the fourth row from the door and about three desks from the front of the room.

  “Here is your desk, Patrick, try to remember where it is because you will be sitting here every day, OK?”

  I nodded, and she showed me how to sit down in the desk. I could tell, at once, that Sister Donna was a very nice and loving person and she liked me.

  Walking back a few feet to the front of the room, she spoke quietly to Mom,

  “Can you tell me if he is toilet trained or has any special issues I should know about?”

  Mom looked thoughtful for a few seconds and replied,

  “Yes, he is toilet trained and, no, there are no other issues.”

  “Will someone be picking him up after school?” Sister asked.

  “No, we only live a few blocks from here and he knows the way”, Mom replied.

  Sister Donna seemed a little surprised at this remark, glanced back at me and said,

  “Are you sure he will be OK walking home?”

  “Yes, there is no one that can pick him up and my Mother does not drive”, Mom said.

  “How old is he?” Sister Donna asked.

  “Patrick is four and a half, but he knows the way because we walk to the church next door every Sunday,” Mom said.

  “Well, nice meeting you, Mrs. Connolly; we will take good care of little Patrick,” Sister Donna replied.

  Mom gave me a careful glance and quickly walked out of the room. I knew she was already late for work and had to go. I sat in my desk in the middle of what would turn out to be a class of almost 50 kindergarten kids. It looked like it might be fun but initially; the gathering of so many youngsters around me was confusing and overwhelming.

  Sister Donna started by reading stories to us and telling us how much fun we could have after we learned to read. Before that, we had to learn the alphabet. That is where my Catholic School education begins. Once every morning, she asks us to put our heads down on our hands and take a little nap. She taught us to spread our fingers and put them on the hard wooden desk before putting our faces down on top of our hands. I was surprised how comfortable this was and how fast I would fall asleep. This school thing was certainly more interesting than just hanging out in my house but finding out all that I have to learn is surprising.

  When it is 2:30 in the afternoon, we can go home. The rest of the school does not get out until 3:30 so we are the only kids leaving at that time. We exited our classroom, and most of the kids met their parents who were there to pick them up. The students, whose parents had not yet arrived, had to stand in a group in front of the building near the center of the front area until they showed up. Just a very few of us started our short walks home alone. I walked this route many times with my Mom but this is the first time I was alone.

  Walking home alone seems like an adventure, but, as Mom taught me, I have to be careful and look around a lot. I am very cautious to stop and look both ways before crossing every street. On my long trek home, there were only five streets to cross without much traffic in the afternoon on any of them, before I arrived at my house on Main Street. Main Street, itself, has a lot of traffic but I do not have to cross it. To my surprise, the walk, after making it a few times, was not scary at all and gave me a sense of freedom I had never experienced before.

  On the way home, I pass The Boys Club, and, since I was a boy, thought I might like to go to go there sometime. Taking up one entire block on one side of the street of the four blocks that I have to walk every day, the Boys Club was in a large old home with fading light yellow paint. This rectangular home with two stories was in the front and middle of a large lot and had a sign over the front door. There is a running track directly behind the house, as well as a baseball diamond located on the right rear part of the lot. Outdoor basketball courts were on the left rear. Another smaller old two-story house, the same color as the main house, also sat on the rear of the lot. The Boys Club looked like a great place for kids to have fun and I would ask my Mom about it.

  I have to make this walk twice a day. Starting out from home about 8 AM, I stay at the school all day, eating my bagged lunch that Mom made for me. After eating, we go out in the playground behind the school and play games under close supervision of Sister Donna and other Sisters of Charity. School is now just part of my normal daily routine.

  I talked to my Mom about joining the Boys Club. She said it was okay and even gave me the fifty cents that I would need to join. Therefore, one day after school, I walked into the Boys Club front door, stopped at the first window on the left inside the front door and asked if I could join. The big adults I met there were very surprised that a person my size and age would walk in the door alone and want to join the club. I guess not too many people only four years old were members. They took my fifty cents, gave me some forms for Mom to complete and asked me to bring them back the next day. The next day after school, I was an official member of the Boys Club.

  After I joined, a big man named Henry that lives in the two-story house behind the Boys Club took me around and showed me various parts of the club. My favorite was the game room downstairs in the large basement, where I could play some games like flat pool that is a regular game of billiards, except it uses large flat wafers instead of round balls. There were also some other pool tables that used balls instead of wafers but I had to be much older to play those games. There was also Ping-Pong and many board games I could check out for a while and then return before leaving. This looks like paradise to me. Just imagine all this great stuff and only two blocks from my house. I am so excited.

  Henry was very thorough in explaining that there was no fighting in the club at all or the people fighting would not be able to go there anymore. At the time, I did not really know what a fight was, except I remembered my Daddy going outside with those men a few months before he died. The thought of fighting scared me.

  “I do not fight!” I said loudly and emphatically.
Henry laughed. I guess he could see I meant it.

  I walked home in time to see my Grandmother before Mom got home from work. I showed her my small, hard, grey Boys Club membership card, and she was very happy for me. Life is sometimes scary but it is definitely an adventure. Grandma even mentioned that it probably would be okay with her and my mother if I stopped off at the Boys Club after school sometimes as long as I let them know ahead of time. I thought that was a good idea.

  After attending kindergarten just a few weeks, I was walking home about 3:30PM, instead of 2:30PM after spending a little extra time with Sister Donna after school, I ran into a group of big kids. One of them started making fun of my red hair and poking me in the chest with his finger.

  “Hey, little red head with orange spots all over, you look really funny, like a clown.” he shouted. “Red the clown, red the clown,” he shouted.

  I began to run toward home. To my surprise, all of them chased me, while yelling and laughing loudly. There was about five of them and it was a good thing I was close to the Boys Club, because I simply ran up the lawn and into the front door. They all yelled at me, “You can’t go in there, you have to be a member!”

  I went in the door anyway, and showed the person at the front desk my membership card. The kids who had chased me were standing just outside the front door and seemed very surprised that, at my small size and age of only four, I was already a member of the Boys Club. Since they were not members, they could not come inside the building. They all walked away laughing. I was relieved and grateful for the Boys Club. Why did these kids pick on me and chase me? Those boys are about twice my size. They all looked like giants to me.

  The person behind the desk that looked at my card was that big man, Henry, who had showed me around when I joined.

  “Are you OK?” he asked, looking out the open doorway at the kids who chased me. He grinned knowingly. I nodded and he said,

  “You remember the stairs downstairs to the game room are over there, Ok?”

  “Ok”, I said, and walked down the stairway to the basement to play a game of “flat pool” by myself. After a half hour or so, I left the boys club for home and, since those kids were gone, the two-block trip home was peaceful.