I saw a writing contest featured on someone’s Blog that offered a $100 first prize award to the winner. You can only enter if you are a member of this site and also contribute a $25 entrance fee…..hmmmmm…..let’s see….after subtracting the member’s and entrance fee’s that should leave me with about a $50 profit.There’s another glitch in this Cloud Computing arena, albeit, they provide the topic. The topic is Courage. They also supply you with some hints and directional blurbs to get you started on your merry writing way.
I always hated it when I was in school and the teacher would hand out writing assignments and she would always provide the topic. AND then, when the task was completed we had to sit through class listening to thirty-five variations on the same theme. They all sounded the same: Courage and the Firefighter, Courage and the war, Courage to master a two wheeler….. My essay? Courage in a Bottle. I wrote about how a lawyer found true grit in his Glenlivet.
That was the third time that I spent the afternoon in the principal’s office. Sister Carmalita confiscated my paperwork and grabbed me by my over-sized navy hand-me-down- button -down and marched me to Father O’ Banion’s office. He told me to “be seated” ( no not on his lap…) and then questioned me about my research and knowledge backround for this essay. I expressed my views directly to him about my parent’s basement bar and the allotment of figureheads that were entertained there. My essay included a highlight of my mother throwing a Supreme Court Justice and a head Prosecutor off her front steps after showing up at 2:00 a.m. Personally I thought that took a lot of courage, considering the person involved was wearing a pink frilly nightgown. ( you take a guess). There were many times I snuck out of my bed and wandered to the top of the stairs to witness flagrant behaviors of forty-something adults wallowing in the divine Spirits…….of scotch. I watched all the great courage being mustered by most couples as they attempted to climb the stairs to find a bathroom.
Father O’Banion read my essay silently to himself as he held his finger against his chin and making “tsk” noises every other minute. I sat there sweating in my knee length-make sure it touches the floor when you genuflect, plaid skirt. I sat on my hands until there were pleat marks pressed into my palms spelling out “you’re going to hell”. I sat there in “tsk” silence trying not to stare at him for fear he would look up from his Bifocals and his magnified eyeballs would glare at me causing me to start laughing. Which would result in a phone call to the parents. So I mastered the art of Silence by conjuring up all my courage and focus my gaze on the shelf behind his desk. I scanned the leather bound books as they were neatly arranged in a Pious-like order and titled appropriately for the venue. I studied the shelves up and down and left and right; making a sign of the cross with my brown peepers. Everything appeared copasetic-ally Catholic including the decanted red vino on a silver serving tray that looked half empty.
Father O put the essay down and saw my eyes staring off behind him at the latest discovery on his book shelf. He stared into my face with his broken capillary cheeks flapping a lecture about proper behavior for a girl my age. And then it hit me. I recognized those redden cheeks. Those cheeks belong to a be-spectacled face, that wore a priests collar, that held a Johnny Walker straight ,that was poured in the Bar that DAD built.
I love courage, it comes in all forms, shapes, sizes, and denominations. Oh and it also comes in Blackmail……………..Folks we have our winner!