I suppose I wouldn't be welcome considering that I must be part of the social system that keeps all intersecting forms of privilege and oppression in place aka the the white supremacist cis-hetero capitalist ablest imperialist xenophobic body-shaming patriarchy.
But it might be fun to walk in and order a coffee and see if they take my money regardless.
Location: Really deep in the heart of South California Gender:
Posted:
Jan 16, 2022 - 7:16pm
Coaxial wrote:
No corner here.
I did get sent to the first grade a couple of times.
I did get a swat once.
Oh... I had to write a letter of apology once that needed to be signed by my parents. A guy in my classroom (he was kind of evil) suggested I tell my parents we were studying autographs, and have my parents sign the paper before I wrote the apology. I was almost thwarted by them suggesting my brother sign to. Quick thinking on my part... I gave my brother a pencil and just erased his name.
Oh... I'm pretty sure I made a nun quit. I think I was the one that drove her to stop the process. I might have been a blessing in disguise.
I learned my lesson more than a few times that I was close to the edge sometimes. I mellowed a little... still the class clown though.
I wish I could have meet that nun again, and just talk to her.
In reality, the stuff I was doing was pretty harmless. Just being a boy. I never destroyed property. Or did stuff that was evil.
That stairwell was the scene of many incidents. Mostly good ones.
Not sure why I revisit that place in my dreams.
A major flashback. Went to one of my aunts funeral today in Anaheim, California. It was a a Catholic Church/ School where I went to school from '63 to '68. I took my brother with me... he also attended there. My dad and all his brothers and sisters went there. My dad went from '33 to '41. We got there early a poked around for a while. The doors were opened so we went inside. What could happen? Would we get kicked out? We meet a nun who was thrilled to see us. I told her there was a nun there back when I was in the 8th grade, who wouldn't be thrilled to see me again. Maybe happy if she knew I didn't grow up to be a serial killer. Or surprised I didn't grow up to be a comedian. A picture from the outside... They upgraded the brick from the original old red brick from the early 30's. But the insides look pretty much the same. Except my brother is way older now. That's the original flooring. The same floor my dad walked on. The stairwell I still dream about... My 8th grade classroom. The only thing missing is the wall to wall chalkboard. And the pounding of erasers. When I sent the pictures to Debbie she said it looks like a prison. She speaks the truth so often. One funny thing. The texture on all the interior walls looks like a texture I replicate many times today in my jobs when people want that "Old World" look. I guess I learned something that applies to my life.
All that time in the corner paid off after all.
Those walks down memory lane can be awfully cathartic...Hope the dreams of the stairs are pleasant.
A major flashback.
Went to one of my aunts funeral today in Anaheim, California.
It was a a Catholic Church/ School where I went to school from '63 to '68.
I took my brother with me... he also attended there.
My dad and all his brothers and sisters went there. My dad went from '33 to '41.
We got there early a poked around for a while. The doors were opened so we went inside. What could happen? Would we get kicked out?
Location: Really deep in the heart of South California Gender:
Posted:
Jan 15, 2022 - 10:15pm
A major flashback.
Went to one of my aunts funeral today in Anaheim, California.
It was a Catholic Church/ School where I went to school from '63 to '68.
I took my brother with me... he also attended there.
My dad and all his brothers and sisters went there. My dad went from '33 to '41.
We got there early a poked around for a while. The doors were opened so we went inside. What could happen? Would we get kicked out?
We meet a nun who was thrilled to see us. I told her there was a nun there back when I was in the 8th grade, who wouldn't be thrilled to see me again. Maybe happy if she knew I didn't grow up to be a serial killer.
Or surprised I didn't grow up to be a comedian.
A picture from the outside...
They upgraded the brick from the original old red brick from the early 30's.
But the insides look pretty much the same. Except my brother is way older now.
That's the original flooring. The same floor my dad walked on.
The stairwell I still dream about...
My 8th grade classroom. The only thing missing is the wall to wall chalkboard. And the pounding of erasers.
When I sent the pictures to Debbie she said it looks like a prison.
She speaks the truth so often.
One funny thing. The texture on all the interior walls looks like a texture I replicate many times today in my jobs when people want that "Old World" look.
I guess I learned something that applies to my life.
They upgraded the brick from the original old red brick from the early 30's.
That's the original flooring. The same floor my dad walked on.
One funny thing. The texture on all the interior walls looks like a texture I replicate many times today in my jobs when people want that "Old World" look.
