Many years ago, while living in Brooklyn, at the end of
summer, and you could tell it was because Mom had this perpetual smile painted
across her lips, Dad would take me to either Pitkin Avenue or NYC to buy me new
shoes and two suits for the opening of the new school year, along with two blue
ties and about 4 or 5 white shirts and black socks.
I went to a parochial school where they made you wear a
white shirt and blue tie. It was run by nuns for the girl’s side of the building
and brothers and lay teachers for the boy’s side. They had a zero tolerance for
fooling around and made sure we didn’t by separating us.
The school itself resembled a reformatory with it’s brick
structure and imposing way it stood out on Aberdeen Street, and it was called:
‘Our Lady of Lourdes’. I called it ‘Our Lady or Lords’, because of the blind
obedience they expected from me. I hated the place and the harshness of the
teachers. They thought that learning was a physical experience, and that God would
get me too if I didn’t learn or behave. Needless to say, I have been hiding
ever since from God, waiting for the lightning bolt to strike.
Dad and I would get on the subway and head out to the store,
and he would say to the salesman, I need two suits for my father here, bending
his head in my direction. This got the obligatory chuckle needed to make the
sale, and I of course was left feeling a little silly.
He would follow mom’s instructions: “Two suits, one blue and
one grey.” Two pairs of shoes: “One black and one brown.” We then rounded out
the ensemble with socks two blue ties and the white shirts.
We would then go home, and I had to try on the suits for the
boss, while Dad hoped he didn’t screw it up. We would eat dinner and Mom would
further ruin my day by telling me I had to get a haircut, like it was my fault
that my hair grew long, or that I didn’t get one already.
The day after the first day of school was the most
troubling. By now I knew I hated my teacher and why, and I had to give her
money for my books, I was in a place I didn’t want to be in, missed being free,
and wanted to go home. Instead, they were giving me books I didn’t want after I
opened them for the first time and took a whiff
The days were still hot, my clothes were not summer wear and
there was NO AIR CONDITIONING in the building! The witch was about to slap me
with homework that I was supposed to memorize and return the next day to recite
my catechism lesson by rote, and be able to read from my reader. Yes, they were
indeed pushing my endurance.
Meanwhile Tess, my older sister (much older) was doing her
homework like a brat and making me look bad.
Mom would then begin the ritual known as advancing Joe
DelBloggolo’s academic career that afternoon before supper:
“JOSEPH, DO YOUR HOMEWORK!”
“OK”
“NOW!”
“OK”
“PUT THOSE COOKIES DOWN AND DO YOUR HOMEWORK NOW” as she
reached for a little gentle persuasion, her wooden spoon!
 |
| Some habits are hard to break |
I was always a little rebellious, testing: the limits of
anyone’s endurance, including teachers, principles and priests, let alone
mother or father. Dad was smart: he would turn all disciplinary issues over to
a higher authority, Mom, who would threaten me with my father: “Just wait until
your father comes home!”
Then one day Mom really scared me, she said: “Waaait, just
wait until you have kids, you’ll have one just like YOU!” I thought that mean,
scary and not nice. Besides, she needed some challenge: Tessie my older sister
(Much older) was doing every thing right, her homework and even cleaning the
house, never swore or cursed!
But I digress, the fall was the hardest part of the school
year for me in Brooklyn, the rest of the year then went downhill.
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