Dirty Laundry (Don Henley)

It was a dark and stormy night. Dad was working late. Wendell studied for AP Biology in the Florida room, Skipper did her spelling in the dining room and I glued stickers onto a geography poster with my mom paying bills feet away. Then the doorbell rang. Mom said, “April, could you get that?”

Knowing I was chosen because I was closes to the door, I got up to get it. The doorbell rang about ten more times. Either they were selling something and there was a prize involved or this was a lunatic. Standing on the front porch, soaking wet was the prized lunatic herself, Mrs. Tolanco, the most obnoxious of all the Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawk Football Booster mothers. A former Whiskey Rebellionette twirler, her senior class voted her ‘Most Divine.’ These days, she resembled the late drag queen Divine.

Opening the door I said, “Hi Mrs. Tolanco.”

Barreling past me and knocking me over like her son Frankie did an opponent on the offensive line, she said, “Wendelin, Gracie, I need a lawyer!”

As I got up, she still ignored the fact she knocked me over. Mom came running out ruing the day she asked me to answer the door, “Judy, I understand you are upset, but Wendelin isn’t home right now.”

Mrs. Tolanco said, “Grace, no can do. We need to sue in big court!” She held up a copy of The Hawk Wing, The Whiskey Rebellion High School newspaper. The headline read, “Blackhawks, Lady Hawks and Rebellionettes Get A Failing Grade by Sandra Angelina.”

Under the article was a picture of a girl who looked like Emily Dickinson The Belle of Amherst joined Sonic Youth with a by-line read, “Sandra Angelina wants to snuff out the patriarchy and write the great American novel.”

Mom said, “Okay Judy, I know you are extremely upset but I need you to calm down and take a few deep breaths. She’s an angry teenager. You know how tough it is to be that age.”

Mrs. Tolanco said, “Well wait until you read what she wrote. The Whiskey Rebellion Women’s Club asked me if it was true. It was about a boy shoving a baseball bat up another boys…”

Mom held up her hand, “Judy, please calm down.”

Mrs. Tolano said, “My Frankie plays football, works part time at the plant store and volunteers with our church to help the shut in at the end of our block with her grocery shopping and yard work. We have a few Rebellionettes and Lady Hawks who are a part of the youth group too. These are good kids and I won’t have them slandered!”

Wendell came running out, “Mrs. Tolanco, you okay?”

Letting it spray like Tammy Faye she said, “NO! Do you know this rotten Sandra Angelina?!”

Wendell said, “Yeah, she’s a weird chick who wears all black and writes death poetry.”

Mrs. Tolanco said, “A ha! The motive here is bitterness and revenge. She couldn’t make The Lady Hawks or the Rebellionettes. Maybe one of the guys wouldn’t date her. Or better yet, she’s a LESBIAN!” The way she said lesbian was louder, angrier and more punctuated than anything else.

Skipper poked her head out of the dining room, “Mrs. Tolanco, I don’t mean to be rude but I am trying to study.”

Mrs. Tolanco screamed, “ I AM BEGINNING TO DOUBT YOUR FAMILY’S COMMITMENT TO BLACKHAWK NATION!”

Mom walked over to the door and opened it, “Judy, I think you need to go home, get some sleep and if you still have legal questions call Wendelin in the morning.”

Mrs. Tolanco threw The Hawk Wing on the ground and made a dramatic exit out the door. When she was gone we let out a collective laugh. I said, “Wow, Dad’s gonna love that.” Dad hated Mrs. Tolanco.

Wendell said, “Oh I’ll bet. Frankie’s a nice guy, too bad his mom’s a freakshow.”

Mom said, “How do the guys feel?”

Wendell shrugged, “I’m ignoring it and the more level headed ones are too. But some of the others are pretty pissed. Anyway, I got to get back to studying.”

Later that night, I read the poison pen piece. Despite the hype it was a badly structured angry skree. Sandra Angelina alleged The Blackhawks and The Lady Hawks and Rebellionettes by extension were bullies who engineered a cheating ring and subjected underclassmen to violent hazing. She was correct. The previous year there had been a cheating ring involving some football players and a few Rebellionettes and Lady Hawks serving as inside people. And bullying had been an epidemic on the football team too. The violent hazing incident where the baseball bat was shoved up the butt happened as well. The only problem, it was last year. The players, cheerleaders, and Rebellionettes involved had graduated, and the coaches were fired so aside from a fact checking issue, there was nothing to be done. Matthias, while far from perfect, was zero tolerance for bullshit on the field or off.

Sandra did have some points I agreed with. Yes, the women’s sports and smaller teams fell to the wayside with little to no publicity for their events, but Whiskey Rebellion was in Steeler County so football was king. The glossy program sold at the home games raised enough money for a new weight room. Sandra claimed the football team kept other athletic teams out. Under the previous coach, the football players intimidated smaller, weaker students out of using the weight room. As far as I knew, Matthias’s squad didn’t behave this way, but Wendell and his teammates were the ones who primarily used it.

When I was finished, I handed Skipper the article. As she read it Skipper said, “Two words: spell check.”

Skipper, despite being grade levels ahead in math, was a terrible speller. I said, “That means a lot coming from you.”

Skipper shrugged, “Only someone of limited intellect would get mad at this like Mrs. Tolanco.” We both burst out laughing.

For the next week, Mrs. Tolanco blew up Dad’s phone demanding the boosters take The Hawk Wing to court. When Dad told her she had no suit, Mrs. Tolanco started a petition demanding The Hawk Wing be shut down. Gaining traction, she began to put pressure on Coach Matthias to approach the administration about disbanding The Hawk Wing.

Coach Matthias, who didn’t like Mrs. Tolanco but wanted to do damage control, approached Mrs. Callahan, The Hawk Wing sponsor, to clear the air. Smooth as sandpaper on a bed of nails Coach Matthias said, “I have no problem with the rest of weird kids that write. But that filly that wears black ain’t no good.”

Mrs. Callahan was indignant, “She has a name and it’s Sandra Angelina. Remember it.”

The two began to shout at each other. Hawk Wing staffers jumped to Mrs. Callahan’s defense. Blackhawks that were in the vicinity saw a Blackhawk down and aided their embattled coach. As the air filled with insults, threats and profanity, the school security guard tried to break up the shouting match gone wrong but failed. The long suffering vice principal Mr. Johns had to assist. When he was ignored, Bo the Janitor, a Vietnam vet with PTSD, jumped in.

As they were being separated, Coach Matthias vowed, “This is a day that will live in infamy! Blackhawk Nation has declared war!”

Mrs. Callahan replied, “Good! Because we not yet begun to write!”

That was the start of what would go down in history as The War of Words. The day after the first shots were fired, Mrs. Tolanco arrived at Principal Cicero’s office with her petition. What she didn’t count on was that Mrs. Angelina, angry her daughter’s locker had been vandalized with the word “CUNT” written in red nail polish, was also waiting to talk to Principal Cicero. The mothers got into a screaming match. When they tried to punch each other, school security had to separate them, escort them out and ban them from school property. Meanwhile, The Hawk Wing, previously ignored, was now flying off the shelves as sympathy for Sandra Angelina and her cause grew.

In what became known as The Battle of Dodge Ball, some Lady Hawk cheerleaders had informed Sandra that she cease and desist, “or else your time at Whiskey Rebellion High School will be hell.” Sandra refused. These same cheerleaders, who were in her gym class, this was Aztec Ball Court where it would be a fight to the death. Dodge balls became deadly weapons. However, what the cheerleaders didn’t count on was members of the women’s volleyball team, who were glad Sandra spoke up for them, would jump to the unathletic girl’s defense. Spikes were fired, resulting in several bloody noses. Volleyball players and cheerleaders were taken to the office, and in all six people were suspended.

Next was The Battle of the Band Room. What started it is not known, but a Rebellionette twirler and a flutist fought over the truth of the Sandra Angelina article. The baton gave the Rebellionette an advantage, but wielding a flute proved to be far more dangerous. The band director, aghast, separated the girls who continued to fight even as the principal suspended them both.

The penultimatum was The Battle of the Stairwell. Several Blackhawk football players had taunted Sandra in the hall with the usual round of insults that included, “Bitch,” “Rug Muncher” and “Tampon Eater.” The hockey team, which Sandra’s cousin Rudy belonged to, were lying in wait in the stairwell ready to pounce to defend her honor. When the time came they jumped three guys in Blackhawk letter jackets. The only problem was, these weren’t the three Blackhawks who had been taunting Sandra but three different guys who were not only at the wrong place at the wrong time, but were actually trying to stay out of The War on Words entirely. Seeing their fellow Blackhawks in trouble, others close by jumped in. Size wise, football guys had the advantage, but the hockey guys lived to get bruised, bloodied up and would not go down. In a match that was a draw, twenty students were suspended.

The War on Words soon spilled down into Constitution Middle School. It made clique divisions more divided and poured salt in wounds that were fresh, especially since several of my classmates had siblings who were suspended because of their participation in the conflict. Like Wendell, I was trying to stay as far out of this as possible, but it was becoming harder and harder as everyone demanded you pick a side. Trying to dodge the draft, I was on my way to lunch when Coach Douglass, my reading teacher and Coach Matthias’s second in command, poked his head out of his classroom, “RL Stine, do you got a minute?” That was his nickname for me because I was always writing something.

I said, “Sure Coach, wassup?”

Coach Douglass, who towered over me said in his thick West Virginia accent, “I don’t know about you, but this War on Words has gotten out of hand. Coach Matthias doesn’t want to call a truce which I think is a mistake. Where do you stand?”

I said, “I stand by the side that wants to stay out of it. No offense.”

Coach Douglass said, “But this is why I need your help. You’re kind of one of us because of Wendell but you are one of them because you are a weird girl who writes. Any ideas?”

I was being backhanded but I was being called to service, “Coach, you got to meet them at their level. Get a player to write a respectful rebuttal.”

Coach Douglass said, “How about Wendell? People like him and he’s smart.”

I said, “Ask him.”

Coach Douglass said, “Matthias is pretty adamant on this war. RL Stine, make him think it was your idea. Remember, Blackhawk Nation is counting on you.” I was charged with saving a country that didn’t exist. To quote the great Nancy Kerrigan, “WHY ME?!?”

That night, as Dad was working late again and Mom was running errands I pitched the idea to Wendell. He said, “Absolutely not! In the War of Words I am a conscientious objector.”

It was a reach but desperate times called for desperate measures, “Wendell, Blackhawk Nation is counting on you.” Then I told him about my conversation with Coach Douglass.

Wendell said, “I was afraid he would do something like that. A lot of the guys are getting into trouble. It sucks because some of them are really nice but people are just so angry that they are starting stuff or getting sucked in by other people starting stuff. It’s not fair. Yeah, some of us were jerks but a lot of us study, make the honor roll and just want to mind our business.”

I said, “Then put that in your editorial.”

Wendell said, “Eh, you know I hate writing.”

Skipper, who was feet away suggested, “Wendell, you like to draw, do a cartoon.” Wendell was a great artist and doodled frequently when he was bored.

A smile crossed his face, “Great idea, Squirt. I’ll do it in study hall tomorrow.” Then we both gave her a fist bump.

Wendell created a cartoon entitled "Don’t Box Me In." On one side it had the stereotype of a Blackhawk football player bullying kids, cutting class, cheating and partying until the wee hours with his friends. On the other side it had the same Blackhawk football player and his teammates helping special needs students, studying hard and having both his coach and mother remind him about work/sports/life balance.

"Don’t Box Me In" was a hit with everyone. Impressed, Mrs. Callahan offered Wendell the gig as Hawk Wing cartoonist which he glady accepted. He also got an unlikely new fan, Sandra Angelina. Away from the front lines she confided in Wendell that she was sick of The War on Words but some of the more overzealous Hawk Wingers were pressuring her to keep fighting, even though at this point it was a giant shitshow.

The two decided to negotiate an armistice. Wendell approached Mr. Napier, his guidance counselor who moonlighted as the football announcer about plugging the women’s sports and the smaller teams during the home games. Mr. Napier not only thought it was a great idea, but was embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it himself. The women’s volleyball team especially enjoyed the new publicity, and during their championship season found the stands packed. Smaller sports also took out ads in the glossy football book to show their appreciation, but also to let the town know that football players weren’t the only Blackhawks.

In return, Sandra talked Mrs. Callahan into apologizing to Coach Matthias. As an olive branch, Coach Matthias offered to do an exclusive sit down interview with Sandra where he consented to being recorded and didn’t dodge the hardball questions. Coach Matthias didn’t deny the cheating and hazing incidents happened, but they were under the former coaching staff. He explained because the former players had been so out of control, the team had gotten a deservedly terrible reputation that he was working to change. Coach Matthias explained that unlike the coach who came before him, he stressed that both athletics and academics were equally as important. And while the previous football teams had excluded people from the weight room this wasn’t going to be the case when he was around. Yes, the football team had raised the money to build the new weight room but all students, regardless of what sport they played, and even those that did not play a sport, were both welcome and encouraged to come work out.

Several Lady Hawks and Rebellionettes wrote editorials apologizing for their roles in The War on Words, but felt dragged in because they resented being stereotyped, but also the boogeyman of peer pressure played an active role. Hawk Wing staffers and people who were on the other side respectfully rebutted, saying they too were sorry, but they resented being ostracized and treated like a second class citizen in their own school. Together, the different voices had an honest conversation about bullying, peer pressure and labels. The Hawk Wing issue, entitled Cliques, won state wide Quill and Scroll prize.

Sandra Angelina went on to attend Sarah Lawrence. After she graduated she freelanced with Mother Jones reporting on crisis pregnancy centers and the conditions of women’s prisons ruffling even more feathers before she opened a socialist bookstore. She recently self-published her opus, “Toppling The Patriarchy.” While not quite the great American novel, it is a hit with the social justice crowd. I’m glad she’s finding her muse. I just hope she uses spellcheck.

Like my writing, check out my books on Amazon

Ray of Light (Madonna)

Pre-season training for the Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks meant a strenuous August. Two weeks before scrimmages, the team spent the week at California State University of Pennsylvania, aka Camp Hell. Staying in bunk bed style dorms, the Blackhawks had three practices a day plus conditioning and strength training. As Coach Matthias explained to the Boosters in his thick West Virginia accent, “It separates the men from the piglet’s on their mama’s teet.”

The week before Camp Hell was roommate selection. My brother Wendell was an outsider having not played Pop Warner, and most of the guys had talked about rooming with their buddies at Camp Hell since the age of five as pee wees. Despite being new to The Blackhawks, Wendell’s easygoing manner and hard work earned him many fast friends so our parents werent worried.

It was four days before camp hell and our dad was out of town in Harrisburg working on a class action lawsuit. This meant a trip to the pool, take out from Sal’s Italian Too, and sleeping in front of the TV. Mom parked her mini-van and we walked to the practice field to retrieve Wendell. Standing next to Coach Matthias, Wendell’s dark brown hair was matted to his head and the expression on his face was hard to read. Matthias said, “Mrs. Brucker, the lady I wanted to see.”

Mom looked at Wendell, “What’s wrong? Is it another concussion?” My ten year old sister Skipper and I stood there hoping Wendell was alright. He had gotten a concussion the week before.

Coach Matthias laughed, “No. We like Wendell a lot because he works hard, keeps his head down and is respectful of everyone. He’s what it means to be a Blackhawk. So I was wondering if it was okay if he roomed with Ragni. The kid’s a little odd. Now I am asking you because Bobby and his mother don’t quite fit in if you know what I’m sayin.”

Wendell said, “It’s okay with me. We’re just sharing a room.” Mom said, “Coach, the kid seems harmless. We’re happy to help in any way we can.”

Coach Matthias said, “Good. Then it’s settled. See you tomorrow, Brucker.”

To say Bobby Ragni and his mother didn’t quite fit in was an understatement. Often mumbling to himself, he was a loner who cried at the drop of a hat. For career day, Bobby had done a report on being a terrorist. The last line of the paper was, “Timothy McVeigh really doesn’t seem like a bad guy. And following Tim’s lead, I want to put The Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawks on the map, even if I have to blow up a building.” Needless to say he got an all expenses paid trip to the school psychologist.

Bobby’s mother, when asked her name, explained, “my chosen name is Devorah.” My mom, seeing the bleach blonde Devorah who carried healing crystals and worked at Sheets was shunned by the rest of the Booster parents, tried to befriend her. My mom asked where Bobby’s father was, to which Devorah said that Bobby had never met him and he never came around. When Mom asked if he paid support Devorah explained, “He can’t, because Bobby’s father is a ray of light.” My mom laughed but then regretted asking when she realized Devorah was completely serious. Bobby was born with a bullseye in the middle of his forehead.

As we pulled into the pool I said, “Since he is half ray of light, maybe he can levitate, think of the stories.”

Skipper, who had tested genius level and was reading Greek myths all summer said, “But he might be Icarus.”

I said, “Nah, Icarus fell to his death and was too young to breed.”

Mom shut off the ignition to her mini-van, “Wendell, next week are Bobby’s only friend. Coach asked you because he trusts you. You need to eat with him and have his back. Being a leader isn’t easy. You understand?” Wendell nodded as we all got out of the car and headed to the pool for a refreshing dip.

The night before the team departed to Camp Hell, the Latham’s had their annual pre-season kickoff celebration at their house. Everyone on the team was invited as well as their family members. The food, cooked by Mrs. Latham, the head of the remedial reading department, was served buffet style. The desserts, cooked by Mr. Latham, head of the math department, had a table of their own and were worth the Type II diabetes one might get. Their blonde haired son Kyle, a starter on the offensive line, was the shining star for having his parents host such a glorious event. While he was still new to the Blackhawks, it helped Wendell’s standing among his peers that Kyle had adopted him as a surrogate baby brother, possibly because Wendell had been one of Mr. Latham’s favorite students of all time.

As we stood in the buffet line to get Mrs. Latham’s trademark lasagna, Kyle said to Wendell, “Little Buddy, tell Coach you can’t room with Ragni. He’ll understand. Millweather and I will figure out some way to squeeze you in. I would get into it what happened last year but we’re about to eat.”

Before Wendell could reply Mom flashed Kyle an I will cut you smile and grabbed Wendell’s arm dragging him to the side. Seeing Mom at barely five feet pull Wendell was a site in itself, “I raised you to include, not to exclude. And the bullying you just saw is why poor Bobby didn’t turn up today.”

I would have pointed out since the ray of light was his father maybe he had weekend visitation, but my mom would have also slapped me. Wendell said, “Mom, I said I would and I will. Can I get some food now?” Wendell yanked his arm, rolled his eyes and got back into the food line.

Mom said, “Good. Because I raised you to be a man of your word. Remember that.”

After getting some lasagna, Skipper and I took our food outside to the picnic tables in the Latham’s back yard. As the sun set and the lightning bugs hit the air, Wendell had taken a seat next to Casbar Renninger. One of three brothers named after The Three Kings, he had two brothers. Balthizar was in pre-season camp at Waynesburg College and Malkiar was in my grade. All of them bragged that they could get any woman they wanted and often did. Their father, who was an annoying blowhard who oversaw the local Pop Warner League, was head of the exercise science at the local community college and fancied himself an expert on everything.

Casbar shoved a piece of bread in his mouth and chewed as he spoke, “Brucker, I know you are bound and determined to be roommates with the freakshow but don’t let Ragni take the top bunk.”

Wendell said, “Do you ever get tired of being an asshole?”

Casbar continued to chew with his mouth full, “Call me an asshole but I am just stating the facts. I’m trying to warn ya. Balthizar let Coach talk him into it too so just do as I say.” Balthizar was an obnoxious loud mouth so whatever Bobby did Balthizar probably deserved.

Wendell said, “Since you are bound and determined to chew when you talk I will let you choke and won’t perform the Heimlich.”

Casbar said, “Good, cause that would be totally gay.”

Wendell said, “That’s mouth to mouth you idiot. Why am I even talking to you?!”

Casbar said, “Fine. Be his butt buddy.”

Wendell got up, flicked him off and walked away. As he did, Casbar, who still had his mouth full began to sing, “Quicker than a ray of light he’s flyyyiiinnnngggg!!!!”

The next morning the players gathered for camp. As per instructions, they showed up to travel in a suit and tie. Since it was Sunday, Wendell had just finished being a junior usher at church so he was dressed and ready to go after a McDonald’s dive through breakfast, or what he referred to as “the last meal” before Camp Hell.

After we pulled up, Wendell kissed my mom and popped out of our dad’s Buick and on to the bus with the rest of his teammates. My dad said, “Matthias had Wendell room with Ragni so no one else would kill him. You know that, right Gracie?”

My mom said, “I know Wendelin.”

A minute later, Bobby Ragni and Devorah pulled up. Getting out of their sedan, she wore a red sari with a red dot painted in the middle of her forehead. Years later, I would learn that was called cultural appropriation. Skipper said, “Why is she dressed like that when she is not Indian?”

My dad said, “Because she’s a Goddamn goof. That’s why.”

Devorah attempted to follow Bobby, who looked like a morose scarecrow in his wrinkled suit. Matthias said, “Son, did you get that off of a bum or a corpse?” Bobby said something and stood next to his mother, holding her hand. Devorah attempted to follow him and Coach Douglass, Matthias’s bigger assistant blocked the way.

Devorah screamed, “I’m not leaving! The kid he roomed with last year gave my Bobby a black eye and a bloody nose!” Devorah, although extremely eccentric, was telling the truth. Balthizar and any of the Renningers were about as understanding as concrete.

Coach Matthias said, “Ma’m, we put him with Brucker. He’s a nice kid. Ain’t nothin gonna happen.”

Devorah said, “Oh, another random assignment with a sociopath! GREAT!!!”

Coach Matthias said, “No. Brucker agreed he would do it. C’mon, Bobby. You comin or not.”

Bobby boarded the bus when all of a sudden the guys began to sing in an out of tune cacophony, “QUICKKKKEERRRR THAN A RAY OF LIGHHHHHHTTT HE’S FLYYYIIIINNNNGGG! AND I FEEL LIKE I JUST GOT HOME AND I FEEEEEEEEELLLLLL!!!!”

Mom said, “What on Earth is that song?”

I said, “Ray of light by Madonna. You know, because Devorah keeps telling people Bobby’s father is a ray of light.”

My dad rolled his eyes and rolled up his window, “That woman is one hundred percent the reason her son gets his ass beat.”

Devorah, after another minute of arguing, accepted that she would have to trust that Bobby was in good hands with Wendell. Then Matthias and Douglass boarded the bus, the doors closed and the team drove away. After the bus left our Buick joined the caravan of cars leaving the parking lot. As we pulled onto the street my dad said, “With a mother like that the kid is damaged goods and he hasn’t even started life. Wouldn’t be shocked if he grows up to become a skin head.”

Wendell called every night around 7:30 PM on the dot from Camp Hell. It was after dinner and lights out was at nine. For the most part, he sounded exhausted since he was doing three practices a day: one at 7 AM, the second at noon, and the third at 3 PM with strength and conditioning twice a day in between. Wendell talked about his teammates, the other teams and the new kids he was meeting. When asked about how rooming with Bobby Ragni was going he gave the same answer, “Fine,” and then changed the subject.

The following Saturday, Wendell returned from Camp Hell. Instead of having dinner with the family he asked to go to bed early. It was unusual for Wendell to miss a meal. The next morning, Wendell went to church while he usually was upbeat and affable as a junior usher, he moved like a zombie. At breakfast, he barely touched his food again. Mom said, “Eat, Matthias said you need to put on weight.”

Wendell rolled his eyes and ignored her. Dad said, “Come on, Son. Did Bobby levitate? You can tell us.”

I said, “Nah, he turned into a werewolf.”

Wendell said, “Shut up! All of you! Camp Hell was pure hell!”

Mom said, “Just what I was afraid of. They bullied Bobby and they bullied you too.”

Dad said, “Son, today was the gospel of Job. You are a lucky kid. God has given you a lot and could take it away.”

Wendell said, “Well God never roomed with Bobby Ragni!”

Mom said, “Your ugly teammates brainwashed you. Another thing I was afraid of.”

Wendell said, “Balthizar Renninger is a jerk but he beat Ragni up for a good reason.”

Dad said, “Son, the kid’s got issues, you know that.”

Wendell said, “He doesn’t have issues, Dad. He has a subscription. When we got to our room, he called the top bunk. I didn’t care because I was only going to be sleeping there and we went on and on about seeing his father who was a ray of light. So we go to practice where he gets his ass beat and then I sit with him at dinner because he has no friends and the guys just lay into him with that stupid Ray of Light song and Bobby starts crying. So I defend him and get into a fistfight with Casbar Renninger.”

Mom said, “Did you get him? I hate that kid and his family.” We all nodded as most everyone found the Renningers hard to stomach even on a good day.

Wendell said, “No, Coach broke us up and made the whole team do an extra run. And then Bobby started crying during the run so it was extra conditioning. And we got to bed at 11 and had to be up at 5. At this point I just want to sleep and all of a sudden I feel this dripping and soon it’s like a waterfall and it smells really bad. Then I realize…..HE’S WETTING THE GOODDAMN BED!”

We sat there shocked for a whole minute because we were not expecting this. Skipper raised her hand, “Wendell, did you speak to Bobby about seeing a doctor for his bladder issues?”

Dad said, “Skipper, be nice, he prefers Mr. Peabody.”

We all burst out laughing but Wendell did not find the humor in any of this, “SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!!”

Dad said, “Son, you’re wrong. It’s hysterical.”

Mom said, “Enough, Wendelin. Sweetie, you should have told us. How did you get through the week?”

Wendell said, “You couldn’t have done anything. Besides, as a peace offering Renninger let me sleep in his room between practices because he figured I had learned my lesson. Latham and Millweather let me slip in after lights out and I slept in the bottom bunk with my feet facing Latham so it wasn’t weird. And I snuck in before Bobby woke up so you wouldn’t give me crap, I wouldn’t get in trouble with Coach and I wouldn’t make it on the hit list he told me he keeps in his dresser drawer at home. And I still ate with him. HAPPY?!”

Mom said, “Well I am still very proud of you.”

Wendell stood up and said, “I HATE YOU ALL!” Then he stomped out of the room.

Dad called, “Son, don’t be a pee brain!”

Skipper said, “That story was quite disgusting. But it would have been better if he levitated.”

The season came and went with Bobby barely saw any playing time. Some of it was the fact he was a mediocre player to begin with but then there was the fact he told several of the other seniors about the hit list he had in his drawer. Like every senior regardless of skill or position, at the end of the season Bobby was awarded a Whiskey Rebellion Blackhawk Letter Jacket that he wore everywhere regardless of the weather. One day as we were running errands and the temperate was a record high, we saw Bobby walking in his letter jacket and beeped. As Bobby waved, my mom said, “That kid will wear that thing every day until the end of time.”

After graduation, Bobby worked for a while at Sheets and then was fired for creeping out a female coworker and then fell off the map completely. That is, until one day I was eating pizza while watching Live PD and saw the department in Arizona had pulled over a soverign citizen.

As they ordered the suspect out of the car I heard a familiar voice say, “I am a citizen and I only adhere to Maritime Law.”

Wearing what looked to be a beaten up Whiskey Rebellion letter jacket with a military style crew cut I said, “Holy shit! That’s Bobby Ragni!”

Bobby ultimately got seven years for resisting arrest and assaulting a cop. He put Whiskey Rebellion on the map and didn’t even need to blow up a building. Behind bars, Bobby has become a hero in The Sovereign Citizen movement and his girlfriend who he met on a facebook group for other sovereign maintains a blog about Bobby’s incarceration and dedication to his cause entitled, “Ray of Light.” The blog recently reported three kids did a paper on Bobby for career day, so he is finally becoming the cool kid he always wanted to be. As an added bonus, prison is filled with people who hurt children, and you know there is some sadistic CO who puts them in the same cell with Bobby knowing he will call the top bunk.

If you like my writing please feel free to check out my books on Amazon.

Open Letter To Covington High

Dear Mr. Rowe,

I grew up in the church. Both of my parents went to Catholic school, my dad until 9^th grade and my mom all the way through grade 12. My cousin is Bishop William Winter of Pittsburgh, and my cousin married not only my parents, but all of my aunts and uncles, and at the age of 90 made a special appearance at my sister’s wedding on the alter. The priest who married my sister played high school football with my brother, and his parents, who are active in many Catholic causes, live next door to my parents in my hometown. My grandparents attended church two times a week and said the rosary daily until they passed away. Not only did I grow up respecting God and the church, but being Catholic was and still is very much a part of my fabric.

When I saw Mr. Nick Sandmann taunt Nathan Phillips I was horrified not only as a person, but as a Catholic. Nick Sandmann does not represent the Catholic Church I knew growing up. The church I grew up in prayed for the family of the fallen  Yitzhak Rabin, because despite having a different faith than us he still fought for peace in a war torn region. We prayed for the family of Matthew Shepherd, because the way he was murdered was ghastly, inhumane, and a hate crime. We also adopted a refugee family from Croatia, as the former Yugoslavia was at the time a battleground and many were dying. In taking in this family we did advocate "building a wall." In fact, our church was doing the opposite. 

 We were taught Catholic meant universal, and that the gift of being Catholic was you could go into a church anywhere and see Catholics of all shapes, sizes, and colors and have something in common. Ethnicity and color were no factor, and we were taught that it was acceptable for churches overseas to have Jesus's that were non-white, but also welcome. My elders in the Catholic Church emphasized treating all people with dignity regardless of whether they were like me or not. It was the Golden Rule, do onto others as they would do on to you. Both my grandfathers were not only good Catholics, but veterans who served their country in World War II in the South Pacific. I was taught to respect not only my elders, but all veterans as they sacrificed for our country. 

Sadly it appears this is not a part of the curriculum at Covington.  

Our priest did teach us about evil though. He sad it was afraid, egotistical, stupid and ultimately pathetic. The young man who got into the face of Nathan Phillips was all these things and so much more. I will not say his name as he does not deserve to be acknowledged let alone remembered, as his actions were the low road and Mr. Phillips took the high road in the face of true evil and hate. Actually, this tale reads like a Jesus parable. Ironically these kids were part of The March For Life effort, but these kids don't respect life at all, period. 

I am the oldest female cousin of 26 cousins and have worked as a teaching artist. When I see terrible behavior from young people, it doesn't speak so much about them but the adults that act as both parents and teachers. I shudder to think what the parents of these young men are like, and I think it's disgusting their chaperones did nothing to stop their vile behavior but instead stood back and did nothing. What turns my stomach most is these young men chanted "Build a wall" and blamed the start of the conflict on a group of black kids. Not only are these kids being taught intolerance, but part of being an adult is taking responsibility for ones own actions. They aren't being taught that either. Apparently the only value they are being taught at Covington is hate. 

While I could call your less than stellar scholar any set of names, it would do us no good. This young man is on a path that leads to no where positive. As Ghandi once said, "An eye for an eye leaves the world blind," and this kid is currently walking in a darkness that is only going to ultimately drag him down. My prayer is he will see the light and learn the error of his ways, as Saul did when he became Paul when God blinded him. They talk about these conversions and miracles in The Bible. You should read it. It's actually a good book when you don't pervert it to your own agenda that includes being a racist hate monger. 

Then again, you don’t seem to be big on reading at Covington. Because if you were, you would know that the white man was the invader and technically, if anyone should have a grievance about building a wall it should have been the indigenous peoples to keep our rape, slavery, and smallpox out. And you would also know the Catholic Church was the biggest presence in colonization, erasure of Native peoples, and the slave trade. But hey, why tell the truth? And why change? 

Just some food for thought.

April Brucker

Josh

In health class, we didn’t just have abstinence speakers appealing to the women, we had some that appealed to the men, too. Hey, the Christianity is about being fair so they decided to shame everyone.

Coach Ryan explained that having a male speaker would show young men that sex outside of marriage was both immoral and dangerous. While he explained young men could shirk their parental responsibilities and dodge court if their teen lady friend were to become pregnant, there were other consequences. In a sessions where it was only the men and the women were relegated to watch an awful anti-sex video, Coach Ryan apparently told the guys, “One thing about sex is that it can give you diseases and low self-esteem. Trust me, my first wife gave me both.”

Silence.

Who could top that confession?

As the men were being lectured, the women got to watch a crazy, anti-sex video. Promise rings flashing in the class, we were witness to a man on screen who spoke in a thick Southern accent. With a cross around his neck, he claimed to be a doctor. “He’s a man of God and medicine.” One girl said. She had recently become born again and was saving herself for marriage. It was working out because she was shrill, annoying, and guys seemed to dislike her anyway.

The doctor explained anal sex was a dangerous alternative. All the Jesus loving girls who couldn’t deny their raging God given hormones notoriously used it as an alternative because if it didn’t enter the front it didn’t count.

The doctor had other thoughts. He explained a young man and woman thought they could cheat this way. However, because “both things were next door to each other” the girl got pregnant and got anal cancer. That’s when the doctor informed us, “It was a bummer this happened.” I don’t know who edited that script, but it was the most unintentionally funny thing ever and the whole room started laughing.

Needless to say he explained the young man didn’t get off the hook either. He was so enticed and seduced after anal that he became a practicing homosexual. The doctor explained because AIDS was the gay plague, that the average age of the practicing homosexual was 35. Years later, this misinformation and homophobic statement boggles my mind.

Since the women had an abstinence speaker, it was decided the guys should have one too. Enter Josh.

Much like Renee (see previous blog), Josh was good looking. He wasn’t super tall, but was muscular and built. His eyes were deep, rich and brown. Josh had tan skin and dark hair. He was like the hero in one of my mom’s trash romance novels she listened to on tape. The second I saw Josh I dreamed of him renouncing his decision to be abstinent and bending me over the table and fucking my brains out.

From the look in the eyes of every girl in the class, they had the same dream. The Jesus girls were trying to hide it, but they wanted to be screaming, “OH GOOOOODDDDDD!!!!!” in a different sort of way. Josh was a hot piece of ass. Sexy Jesus could rob my virginity any time.

Josh began to speak. Unlike Renee, he sounded sane and didn’t seem to exchange sex stories with his sister. Josh explained when not educating teens about abstinence, he was a graduate student in biomedical engineering and was a triathlete. He was 25 and still a virgin, but it was because he was waiting for the right woman.

All I could think was, I am the right woman Josh. I will take your virginity in the coat closet. It will be hell because it will be the first time for the both of us. When my mother find out she will be disappointed. My father will probably want to shoot you and is cleaning his gun as I am having this fantasy. But damnnnnnnnnnnn you are so fine I want to 6969…….

As Josh talked, I was busily drooling and his words were going in one ear and out the other. He went to church but it was a mainline denomination. His explained two of his church mates hadn’t been abstinent in their previous relationships but decided to renew their virginity with a Christian courtship. They hadn’t even kissed until their wedding day. But Josh said it was a kiss that was so full of love and so pure it stopped the whole church. This was like something out of a Hallmark movie. Josh had every girl in the class, but the guys were getting restless.

“Douche.” Rob Thompson said. Rob was the captain of the hockey team. His claim to fame was getting a lot of girls, being ejected from games, and refusing to wash his blood soaked jersey for luck. Rob was looking better because his recent black eye had healed and his tooth had been repaired. While he was a loud mouth and a bit of a crazy man, Rob wasn’t a bully. He told it like he saw it. What wasn’t to love?

Just then it was Q and A time. Jenny Francis, a teen ambassador for March for Life raised her hand. A big grin on her face, I could tell she too had been rocking sexy Jesus. “I admire your decision to say no to sex and sin and obey God……” This was going no where good.

Jenny continued, big crazy eyes and brown hair in a pony tail, “What would you tell someone who was being pressured into sex?”

“Go for it.” Rob Thompson said. I tried hard not to laugh.

“I would say wait for your true love.” Josh replied.

“But what if your true love was injured and deformed in an automobile accent?” Jenny asked.

“Worst question ever. And my dad’s on his third wife. He says all you want is a bitch that isn’t crazy.” Oh Rob, how I loved thee, badly dyed peroxide hair and all.

“Well, I would probably leave her.” Josh replied.

Every girl in the class now let out a collective gasp. All at once, Josh had stopped being cute. My fantasies of having rabid jungle monkey sex with him stopped, but now they came to a screeching halt for everyone.

“What!” Krista Smith said. She was also am ambassador for life.

“Listen, when someone’s appearance changes and they are physically deformed, I am no longer attracted to them and I cannot be with someone I am no longer attracted to. That is why Quasimodo was alone in The Hunchback of Notre Dame.” Josh told us.

The room went silent. We hoped he was kidding but he wasn’t. Finally, Rob Thompson decided to unleash his wisdom. “Man, the only reason you decided to be a virgin is because you are an idiot who cant get a girl.” The whole class laughed. Ordinarily Coach Ryan would have stopped this but Josh had earned this verbal ass whopping.

“Son, I have elected not to have a woman.” Josh informed him.

“If you dated my sister I would chase you out of my house.” Rob fired back.

“I wouldn’t sleep with your sister.” Josh said.

“My sister wouldn’t sleep with you either and neither would any girl in here. Face it man, you are a loser. And you can have safe sex. Just use a rubber.” Rob pointed out. While Rob’s academic eligibility was always tenuous at best, this was the smartest thing we had heard in a while.

“What would you know about sex?” Josh was now angry.

“Enough to have had it with three different ladies and enough to currently have a girlfriend. Which means I am doing better than you.” Just then the bell rang. Coach Ryan had a look of embarrassment that was far outweighed by amusement. His whole life Josh had never been able to bag a babe and it would never happen. And he was defeated in a debate by Rob Thompson. He could study biomedicine. He could compete in triathalons. He could even talk about abstinence. At the end of the day, Josh proved that if you are 25 and still a virgin……..it’s not just your choice. It’s everyone’s.

I was thinking of sending a copy of my book to Josh. It’s a good deed because he is probably still a virgin. At the end I’ll write, “Hope you enjoy. Xoxox Another Girl Who Won’t Sleep With You.”

And you should

Buy my book