There are no bad boys. There is only bad environment, bad training, bad example, bad thinking. – Edward J. Flanagan
Remember sitting on the porch of my Grandma's house
On a Sunday Afternoon after all morning in church, listen to old ladies sing like they meant to hurt your ears.
A strict churchgoer - prayer will save us - she'd dress us up in suits and bowties and fedoras and not let us go to the movies. Rodan and The Fly.
On a Sunday Afternoon we'd sit on the porch in hard tight shoes like our collars and watch other boys go off into hiding woods.
Or over to the ball park. That was the worst. Hear a playground just down the block.
Every once in a while on Grandma's porch on a Sunday afternoon, an older couple in fancy dress much blue and silver slow motion and a bulldog with a face like the vice-president
Hail!! and palaver brick-lined pieties. Remembering nothing what they said if we even heard.
We'd laugh like little devils sitting on Grandma's porch. And wonder, wonder why Jesus didn't want little boys to have fun
On a Sunday afternoon.
And pretend. Pretended we were angels grounded for reasons known only to Grandma and God.
We promised to get even.
