Warning: include(/home/content/m/b/e/mbehre130/html/hosting/sherwood/web/smartmenu/index.php) [function.include]: failed to open stream: No such file or directory in /home/content/67/6785667/html/hosting/sherwood/web/Front/Nun.php on line 14

Warning: include() [function.include]: Failed opening '/home/content/m/b/e/mbehre130/html/hosting/sherwood/web/smartmenu/index.php' for inclusion (include_path='.:/usr/local/php5/lib/php') in /home/content/67/6785667/html/hosting/sherwood/web/Front/Nun.php on line 14

"I punched a nun"


Several writers have emailed me in a state of shock. The cause was an off-handed comment…"I punched a nun"…that was contained in the latest chapter of the U100 Story. Here are the gruesome details.

Sister Joseph always told us that the money we raised from our small sacrifices would not only bring a pagan child to Christ, but also save its very life. By giving up chewing gum or popcorn at the movies or a bottle of Coke on a hot day, the money saved could be pooled with our classmates and put to a greater good. For fifteen dollars we would prevent the child from being put in a tree for the crows to eat. Once I asked Sister Joseph if they really, really put pagan children in trees for crows to devour. She was a Dominican but her answer would have done the Jesuits proud. "If a little lie helps to save a pagan child it is worth it."

Not only was Sister Joseph dedicated to saving the children from Buddha, several thousand India gods, and the Lutherans, she was also trying to save me. Somewhere along the line, she had identified me as one headed for the 5th ring of the Inferno.

I was walking down the hall with a friend behind me who thought it uproariously funny to try to step on your heels. I kept slowing down to throw off his timing and these shenanigans caught the ever attentive glare of Sister Joseph. My friend decamped from my heels and unknown to me was replaced by S.J. I wasn’t walking quickly enough and Sister used a well-placed thumb in the spine to speed me up. I spun around, my arm cocked like a coiled spring and unable to stop, caught the old nun in the stomach. She doubled over gasping for breath, her face mottled bright red beneath your wimple that had fallen forward. I am surprised the other students in the hall didn’t spontaneously stone me to death just to make sure they were on the right side of the situation.

Later that day, my parents were told I was the "spawn of the devil" and I should leave, never to darken that parochial door again.

I am assuming that if Sister had her way, I would be in a tree waiting for a hungry crow.



Home to www.RobSherwood.com