Sometimes, or let me rephrase this, I always stew about my writing….  just like a Sunday Slow Cooker recipe.  Sometimes, it turns out wonderful, and sometimes it tastes like shit……just like my writing.

I’ve been stewing about writing some important stories about my life and others’ and quite  genuinely, those are the most difficult to express.  When you send something out to the world, also known as A Corner Club (my brother’s tavern), it puts you at risk.  So, now I’m going to try to write something fun.  Please, don’t find it boorish.

My father was not a Jew. (Bless their hearts, brains and money).  My father was the provider of thirteen Catholic boys and girls.  He always made certain food was on the table, a tent was over our heads, and we always had patched pants mom would provide.

Growing up in the Catholic church became a bit confusing for the youngest of 13.  I did my best to discern the difference between mortal and venial sins.  Other than loving my family unconditionally as a young boy, and basically just playing in the yard, I didn’t know how to confess my sins; I really didn’t have any (yet).  This is when I began my lying career.

I am no saint, and I ain’t no angel, but I lied my ass off in those confessionals.  I couldn’t think of anything I did wrong.  I didn’t use profanity in those days, but I lied to the priest saying I did.  This was extremely taxing…….making up bad stuff just to be absolved of my sins.  I was honest when I said I was thinking bad thoughts about some of my siblings……meaning, since I couldn’t beat them up, I’d just hide their wallet, containing nothing other than a condom they would never use.  After the concussions, it seemed the only way to get back at them.

We learned from our father what the really egregious sins were.  He began making pretty good money to support us, and, one day, other than giving to charity, he wanted to know what was on our wish list.  I wanted a bat.  My siblings wanted a pool.  Determination?Venial sin. Out of the question.  Dad knew that was a recipe for Gannon Disaster.  Then, he asked what was second on our wish list.  Knowing this was a Mortal Sin, we sheepishly replied……”call waiting?”

That’s when the shit hit the rotary phone, and I was not allowed to talk to the girl in the eighth grade I’m currently married to.

Lead us not into temptation, and deliver us from call waiting.  We decided to stick to rock fights and good food.