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"Life as I see It."

"A Penance For My Sins" -
Randy Burns
September 22, 2002

"Bless me father for I have sinned, it's been three months since my last confession." I remember saying those words inside a small room, through an eight by ten opening used for telling a priest about the swearing I'd directed toward my older sister, or when I didn't listen to my mother. Sometimes it was both.

"Honor thy father and mother," the 'voice only' told me. You couldn't really see through the opening that you tossed your sins through, you couldn't make out the person receiving them either. You knew it had to be a priest, though. This was the Catholic Church! If you didn't show for worship every Sunday you would go to hell. That's how important my stinking religion was. All powerful, all threatening, and all in Latin. Never understood a word of it, but I went to mass.

I told the sacredly hidden man, "That's it, that's all of them. I'm done." Then I waited, as I usually did, for the amount of prayers he would instruct me to say at the Altar. That would be my penance. Hell, my sister Barbara and I could never think of any sins to confess. We'd have fun in the back seat of the car on our way to church-inventing them. What? Fake sins! Yup, and they worked like a charm.

My thoughts were interrupted. "How old are you son?" Strange question, I thought. I wanted to say, "just dish out them prayers, man, you're putting a damper on this whole thing."

"I'm twelve father, why?"

"What do you think your penance should be?" Oh brother, I thought, that was his job.

"Three Our Fathers and three Hail Mary's," I said. I thought he'd say okay, because that's what I usually got. Not this time.

"Frank, that is your name isn't it?"

"Yes father, Frank Ryan."

"Well, Frank Ryan," he went on, "would you like to come back to my office and talk about being an alter boy?" Jesus Christ, that was one hell of a penance!

"Okay, I guess." I couldn't think of another way to answer a priest.

"Good, Frank, I'll be in my office in half an hour. Can you make it then?"

"Yes father, I live a block from here. Are you Father Donal?" Not seeing him clearly and using almost whispers to exchange sins for penance, made me ask to be certain.

"I am Father Donal, Frank, see you in half an hour."

"That's it?" I'd received no penance!

"Half an hour. You can go now, Frank."

I left the confessional and walked outside to have a cigarette. That's right, a twelve year old smoker. I packed the Pall Malls by whacking both ends of the package in the palm of my hand. I opened them, took one out and lit it. After one deep inhale and exhale, I could think again. No penance, no prayers….the damnedest thing! Me, an altar boy?

Half an hour later I was sitting in Father Donal's Office. He was staring at me without saying a word. His hands were churched together under his chin, and he wouldn't stop staring.

"Frank, what do you think it takes to become an altar boy?"

"I don't know, father, never looked into it."

"Are you in good shape Frank? Do you eat well?"

I'm in pretty good shape, father, but what does that have to do with it?" It was getting strange now, I could feel it getting very strange. Father Donal got up and walked around me a few times, then he stopped right behind me. I didn't know if I should turn around and look at him, like I didn't trust him being there. Didn't want him to think that I didn't trust him so I didn't turn around.

He stood there for several minutes. I sat in the chair staring forward for the same length of time.

Then his voice came from behind me. "Frank, my son, have you ever seen an erection?"

"What?" I kept looking straight ahead.

"Turn around now and take a good look at the holy flower." Hearing that, I turned quickly. He had his pants open and his hard penis grasped in his hand. I could see that when he wasn't talking behind me, he was working on himself to present me with a rather large erection. Father Donal really wanted me to see it. It grew larger in his hand the longer I looked at it. Pleasure was overcoming him. Right there's when I lost it…..

"What the fuck are you doing, father? Stick that Goddamned prick back in your pants and go to hell you mother-fucker!" I got up and walked out the door as quickly as I could. I wanted to kick the shit out of him, but I didn't want to get any closer than I had to be. I was on my way out the door to the hall, "You Sick, sick, son-of-a-bitch," I kept yelling at the top of my lungs.

I ran out of that church and never returned. I didn't tell anyone but Danny, my best friend, and I don't think he believed me. It was 1959. If I'd told my folks, they would have killed me first and punished me later. Lying about our priest like that. So I shut up, but refused to go to church. I tell you, man, I sure caught some bad beatings from the old man for that.

After a month or so, the Sunday beatings from my father stopped. Everything seemed all right again. ~

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