places: driving in the rain

The sun was out.  It was raining and humid. Years ago Father McGregor once told me that the devil was beating his wife on such days. He was a good sort, patient with the kids.  He didn't care much for us in his garden though. I'm sure we tested the old man's faith on a daily basis.

We were treated well enough. If it were a family, it was a family of strangers.  My siblings were other orphaned and discarded souls with wounds of their own.  We were fed, clothed, and cared for - but we all knew that it wasn't home.

There were a few to fortune to find one. I remember a childhood pal named Danny. I remember when he packed his small bag with what few possessions he had and walked to the tall open doorway.  His new parents were standing there waiting for him  Danny looked back and said "bye". He was about ten years old, about my age at the time.  No one was in the room but me. My response was glued in my mouth and my chest. I just looked at him dazed.  He was wanted by someone.  He was going to a home.

I was just a stupid kid. I wasn't happy for him.  I just knew that I had lost a pal and envied his new life.  Danny was one of the lucky ones now. He was so much like me, my height, my build, he liked to play the same kind of games I did. Why couldn't it  be me?  I was told to feel happy for him. I just felt more loss.

No one there mentioned that during the Depression, that most folks couldn't afford another mouth to feed?  Most of us knew it without saying it.  Finding home was a long-shot.

There are only moments that I remember there. It's where I first learned to fight.  It's not because I wanted to - but had to. I remember being cornered. I remember being alone. I remember standing against the bullies and drawing blood.

McGregor said,"Dell be no gang'n up heer.  Dell be no haten ner fidd'n in dis holy place. Dis heer is every one's haven, and dars only one side within dees walls...an dat's de Lord's."

The kind old man never explained it, but I heard him say it often enough. My take on it was that we were all forgotten children, taken in by the church as a mission. We were all alike and shouldn't be taking our anger out on each other.

The fighting didn't stop. Boys will be boys. Fighting will always be, even in holy places.  I tried to avoid trouble, but one of the earliest lesson in life is that trouble never tried to avoid me.

This is what the rain brings. I had not thought of them in decades.

Almost there.