Assume Nothing

When I was a little girl, about ten or eleven, my parents put me in a catholic school. Thank god, it was coed, or I would have really been even more awkward growing up.

Hell, we moved so much growing up the military, my only constant in life was my sister, it was she, the hired help, and the Irish priest and nuns, who really raised me in a world I was not prepared to face. On the bases we lived on, we had local movie theaters, buses that we could take anywhere, roller skating rinks, the local pool, and well other military kids looking to connect, with working parents.

Seldom did anyone not have two working parents, yes, back in the 50’s and 60’s; it was the only way some people could actually acquire the American Dream. Unless your father, was someone or you had more than one college degree you were really just stuck in the military. Though my father had a college degree he chose to be an NCO, he did not want to be an officer so he was a Master Sergeant in the Air Force; he had been a radioman in the Navy. However, when I was born then my mother insisted that he go into the Air Force. It was safer for her. After all, who wanted a man who was mistaken as Montgomery Cliff on more than one occasion on shore leave? Father had an impressive skill set, he was a quiet man, but for the 3 weeks a month, if we were lucky he was a regular dad.

When we lived in Japan, father took us to the river every Saturday, with some of the guys he worked with. It was always potluck, and Liz Malone would always bring the best damn chocolate cake with the yummiest frosting (most likely containing a great liqueur.) My mother got the recipe but never made it… I really wanted that recipe, but I am sure it had since been modified to a different palette’ not that of a seven year old in love with that taste.

After each picnic, us kids would run around and finish the beer cans. It was Black Label to some and cervezas to others; everyone was our uncles and aunts, some really were related too. Anyway us kids would look into the cans to survey the lack of butts and minnows that Uncle Ski taught us to catch with empty beer can. No one wanted a swig of butts, or minnows. I remember clearly on one occasion, Ski was with us as we made our rounds of half empties, and Ski drank some minnows.To this day I don’t know if he knew they were in there and let us pull a prank by not stopping him or if he was that just that good at hiding emotions and reactions.

My father was pretty damn good at hiding emotions and reactions, unless my mother was around to push and prod, but it was back then when she used her work, or the bowling alley to keep her mind off of him being gone. She was always so in love with him, but her version of love I have never been able to grasp.

Anyway, back the original story, minus the side trip into my thought process.

I always wanted to be a nun, back in my Catholic school days. Okay I have and had urges, so that kind of screwed me in the whole marrying jesus thing. I was positive I was going to cheat on god’s son! Oh yeah but I was also terrified of the real world, also of the United states, a place I was born, but hadn’t grown up in. I knew those sweet nuns and priest from Ireland would take very good care of me.

My family laughed at me… I really was very religious at the time; and after all, I had just seen the Sound of Music. As sure as I knew Hayley Mills was going to smoke in the bathroom in “The Trouble with Angels, I knew I would cheat on god if any of the Van Trapp family came my way, or a shallow substitute.

I put away those childish thoughts of god and refolded all of the white towels I wore as the headdress to my habit, and I knew that my idea of security was over. Well security in my own little life, Hell I was 11…. Little did I know I was to leave home for the first time the next year.

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