I looked at the photos at bottom of this post and said, Oh my God, I didn't see it before. That is the room, that is the window, covered over with bricks, that is the room.
In that year or so period I had been a sexual predator myself, at six years old. On one occasion, I took my two male cousins under the covers in a bedroom during a family party, another time it was several kids in a Bartlett neighborhood in a tree house. I was showing them the wonderful thing Father Horne had showed me, just pull down your pants and put your finger there, see?
Apparently my parents turned to the Catholic Church for help.
Now I see it there on the side at the old entrance on North street. Of course, back then you probably entered here. They must have ushered me into that room on the right, close to the front door, and it was dark and had a stained glass window with a rounded top.
|We entered, I was ushered into room with oval window|
|Bricked up window, I remember it from 1955|
(CUT: I need to write this. It's what wakes me up at four in the morning, it's what runs through my head all day. I'm beating myself up for not finishing “Chapter Two” while I walk around whispering a whole different version of the story, to myself, with no one listening. I should write it as it runs through my head, I have to stop trying to craft chapters. This isn't a book it's a blog.)
(And I need PayPal clicks, please)
I thought about getting more graphic and writing about the incidents with my cousins and in the tree house at CofA 16 but there is no genuine nudge to do that. I only respond to genuine nudges...
Can't wait 'til I start writing the part about NASA (1978-83)