Sister Lawrence dismisses class on Friday afternoon but says to me, "Gordon, would you please remain?" I stop. "Does your bicycle have a basket?"
"Yes, Sister."
"Good, do you think you can bring your bike to the convent tomorrow morning? Come at nine if you can, and I'll let you know what I'd like you to do."
"Okay."
"Okay, what?" Sister Lawrence smiles again.
"Okay, Sister."
Sister nods and smiles.
Although I don't wet the bed anymore, I still rise before everyone else and eat two bowls of Rice Krispies before Mother comes into the kitchen. She's followed by Little Pete who doesn't say much and Crazy Annie, who jabbers all the time.
My two older brothers remain in bed on Saturdays almost until noon. That's because on Friday nights Doc III's out with Eunice Bankenbush. Will-yum, if not with Skip Wefel, is with Skip's younger sister, Sandy. She blabs all the time.
"Why do you keep looking at that clock on the stove?" inquires my nosy sister.
"Because I have to be at the convent by nine; that's why, Miss Nosy Pants."
"Mother, did you hear what Gordy called me?"
"I heard, but you have to learn to fight your own battles."
"See?" I say to my sister. "Nah, nah, yah-nah-nah."
Mother gives me the evil eye. "Why are you going?"
"Sister Lawrence wants me to do something."
"Meaning?"
I shrug. "I'll let you know after I do it." So, I head outdoors, pick up the Schwinn, and ride down the Old Grove hill. Since the ride takes only two minutes, I decide to watch polliwogs in the cattail marsh below the hill. I get a kick out of the little black squiggles and watch them until I think it must be nine.
At the convent and up the stairs, I ring the doorbell. Opening the door, Sister Lawrence greets me with her softness. "Good morning, Gordon. It's so good of you to come, and I see your bike has a basket."
"Yes, Sister."
"Good, I'd like you to go downtown to the Superette, two doors away from Schroeder's Five and Dime. Do you know which store I'm talking about?"
"Yes, Sister."
"Good, tell the store's owner I sent you there. He'll give you fruit and vegetables you'll put in your basket. Then, return here. I'll be waiting for you."
"Is that all, Sister?"
She smiles. "That's it. Be on your way now, and I'll wait for your return."
So, I head the Schwinn to Fourth Street and ride on the sidewalk next to the river wall. I stop to watch the carp, swimming lazily in the coffee-colored river, chomping on poop that comes out of a huge drain pipe in which I could stand straight up without hitting my head. Their swallowing poop is reason enough to never eat carp. Some men spear and smoke them and tell everyone, "Ummmmm, they taste good." Don't believe them.
A huge snapping turtle, about half the size of a bathtub, tries to join the carp. At once, the fish glide away. Unlike me, the snapper won't mind dining on poop-eating carp. Next, a swarm of little kids approach my spot, jump up, hold on, and lean over the wall. They all go, "Ooooh" and "Ahhh, look at all those fish. Hey, see that turtle? Yeah. He could kill you with one bite."
I mount the bike and ride the to the store. "Where's the owner?" I ask the lady at the second checkout counter. This store has only two checkout counters. The A&P across the river has four or five.
The bespectacled, not too pretty lady with bright red lipstick, bottle-blonde hair, and an upper gold front tooth, snaps a wad of gum a couple of times before she says, "He's in the produce department, most likely. He's wearing a white apron."
"A white apron, you say?"
"That's what I said, Sonny-boy, snap, snap."
What a charmer. I spy him in the produce department, wearing a white apron. He has a round face, black hair, and wears glasses with black plastic rims."Can I help you?" he asks.
"Uhm, I'm Gordy Hoffman. I'm in the seventh grade at SS Peter and Paul. My teacher, Sister Lawrence, sent me here."
He has three gold teeth, two on top, one on the bottom. "Oh, yes. I was expecting someone, but not as young as you. How do you expect to carry bags of carrots, potatoes, and oranges?"
"My bike has a big basket."
"Okay, that might work," he says, turning to a bin of oranges, picking and restacking perfectly-colored, round ones. Those with flat spots and brown blotches, he dumps into a large paper sack. At best, they're second cousins to totally rotten oranges. He grabs another bag and fills them with potatoes in about the same shape as the oranges. He squeezes them. Most are soft and squishy and have plenty of sprouting eyes. Next, he fills a bag with limp carrots. "Where's your bike?"
"Out front."
He lifts two bags. "You carry that one. Watch out. It's heavy." I follow him out the store. "Put your bag down," he says. I do so. "Here's what I want you to do. Mount your bike, stand over it, and hold on to the handlebars. I'll put the bags in your basket, Okay?"
I return to the convent without stopping to gaze at the poop-eating carp. Braking in front of the nun's manor, I straddle the bike and set down one bag at a time on the sidewalk. Looking up, I see my smiling teacher at the open door and figure it must be cleaning time because she and three other nuns with her wear striped Navy blue and white smocks over their habits. All four nuns marvel with utmost glee as they behold the nearly rotten produce. "Oranges," one declares. "Thank you, Jesus."
They remind me of kids, opening gifts on Christmas morning. When I get home, I tell Mother about the nearly rotten fruit and vegetables. Mother says, "Do you see how happy those nuns are? There's good reason. They devote their life to serving God."
"I think God should reward them with fresh food."
Mother laughs.
"Yes, Sister."
"Good, do you think you can bring your bike to the convent tomorrow morning? Come at nine if you can, and I'll let you know what I'd like you to do."
"Okay."
"Okay, what?" Sister Lawrence smiles again.
"Okay, Sister."
Sister nods and smiles.
Although I don't wet the bed anymore, I still rise before everyone else and eat two bowls of Rice Krispies before Mother comes into the kitchen. She's followed by Little Pete who doesn't say much and Crazy Annie, who jabbers all the time.
My two older brothers remain in bed on Saturdays almost until noon. That's because on Friday nights Doc III's out with Eunice Bankenbush. Will-yum, if not with Skip Wefel, is with Skip's younger sister, Sandy. She blabs all the time.
"Why do you keep looking at that clock on the stove?" inquires my nosy sister.
"Because I have to be at the convent by nine; that's why, Miss Nosy Pants."
"Mother, did you hear what Gordy called me?"
"I heard, but you have to learn to fight your own battles."
"See?" I say to my sister. "Nah, nah, yah-nah-nah."
Mother gives me the evil eye. "Why are you going?"
"Sister Lawrence wants me to do something."
"Meaning?"
I shrug. "I'll let you know after I do it." So, I head outdoors, pick up the Schwinn, and ride down the Old Grove hill. Since the ride takes only two minutes, I decide to watch polliwogs in the cattail marsh below the hill. I get a kick out of the little black squiggles and watch them until I think it must be nine.
At the convent and up the stairs, I ring the doorbell. Opening the door, Sister Lawrence greets me with her softness. "Good morning, Gordon. It's so good of you to come, and I see your bike has a basket."
"Yes, Sister."
"Good, I'd like you to go downtown to the Superette, two doors away from Schroeder's Five and Dime. Do you know which store I'm talking about?"
"Yes, Sister."
"Good, tell the store's owner I sent you there. He'll give you fruit and vegetables you'll put in your basket. Then, return here. I'll be waiting for you."
"Is that all, Sister?"
She smiles. "That's it. Be on your way now, and I'll wait for your return."
So, I head the Schwinn to Fourth Street and ride on the sidewalk next to the river wall. I stop to watch the carp, swimming lazily in the coffee-colored river, chomping on poop that comes out of a huge drain pipe in which I could stand straight up without hitting my head. Their swallowing poop is reason enough to never eat carp. Some men spear and smoke them and tell everyone, "Ummmmm, they taste good." Don't believe them.
A huge snapping turtle, about half the size of a bathtub, tries to join the carp. At once, the fish glide away. Unlike me, the snapper won't mind dining on poop-eating carp. Next, a swarm of little kids approach my spot, jump up, hold on, and lean over the wall. They all go, "Ooooh" and "Ahhh, look at all those fish. Hey, see that turtle? Yeah. He could kill you with one bite."
I mount the bike and ride the to the store. "Where's the owner?" I ask the lady at the second checkout counter. This store has only two checkout counters. The A&P across the river has four or five.
The bespectacled, not too pretty lady with bright red lipstick, bottle-blonde hair, and an upper gold front tooth, snaps a wad of gum a couple of times before she says, "He's in the produce department, most likely. He's wearing a white apron."
"A white apron, you say?"
"That's what I said, Sonny-boy, snap, snap."
What a charmer. I spy him in the produce department, wearing a white apron. He has a round face, black hair, and wears glasses with black plastic rims."Can I help you?" he asks.
"Uhm, I'm Gordy Hoffman. I'm in the seventh grade at SS Peter and Paul. My teacher, Sister Lawrence, sent me here."
He has three gold teeth, two on top, one on the bottom. "Oh, yes. I was expecting someone, but not as young as you. How do you expect to carry bags of carrots, potatoes, and oranges?"
"My bike has a big basket."
"Okay, that might work," he says, turning to a bin of oranges, picking and restacking perfectly-colored, round ones. Those with flat spots and brown blotches, he dumps into a large paper sack. At best, they're second cousins to totally rotten oranges. He grabs another bag and fills them with potatoes in about the same shape as the oranges. He squeezes them. Most are soft and squishy and have plenty of sprouting eyes. Next, he fills a bag with limp carrots. "Where's your bike?"
"Out front."
He lifts two bags. "You carry that one. Watch out. It's heavy." I follow him out the store. "Put your bag down," he says. I do so. "Here's what I want you to do. Mount your bike, stand over it, and hold on to the handlebars. I'll put the bags in your basket, Okay?"
I return to the convent without stopping to gaze at the poop-eating carp. Braking in front of the nun's manor, I straddle the bike and set down one bag at a time on the sidewalk. Looking up, I see my smiling teacher at the open door and figure it must be cleaning time because she and three other nuns with her wear striped Navy blue and white smocks over their habits. All four nuns marvel with utmost glee as they behold the nearly rotten produce. "Oranges," one declares. "Thank you, Jesus."
They remind me of kids, opening gifts on Christmas morning. When I get home, I tell Mother about the nearly rotten fruit and vegetables. Mother says, "Do you see how happy those nuns are? There's good reason. They devote their life to serving God."
"I think God should reward them with fresh food."
Mother laughs.
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