attention to the motion or direction the good sister was traversing. Lo-and-behold she tripped backward over the nearly prostrate Buddy. As she struggled to remain standing, she unceremoniously grabbed a couple school desks-displacing two of Buddy's classmates to lessen the velocity as she hit the ground.
Of course, the red faced Buddy was instantly on his feet stammering, "I'm sorry sister, I lost a nickel and I was looking for it." The nun got up, helping the displaced classmates to their feet at the same time. She brushed herself off and straightened her veil. She was perturbed and embarrassed but what could she say or do? Buddy got back to his desk. His face was red and the rush of adrenaline caused by the debacle he had just instigated caused his heart to pound. He was scared, embarrassed and ashamed-all at the same time. Naturally his fellow classmates were sneering and giggling while pointing their fingers at him. That's what kids do in the third and fourth grade.
"So what did you see? Was she wearing underpants?" I asked.
"Couldn't see a damn thing," he said.
Tommy Donahue, likewise sitting at the bar, had overheard the conversation. He said he and couple of his classmates were always intrigued at what the nuns were wearing under their habits. He remembered "they always looked like they were floating when they walked up and down the aisles between the desks." He readily admitted that when they walked past him he picked at their hems "to see some leg or ankle or anything." He also admitted failure in his quest.
I looked at them both and asked if they had gone to confession and asked for forgiveness for their impure thoughts. They said "NO" in resounding unison. Buddy said it never occurred to him that wanting to look up a nun's habit was impure. Tommy sheepishly admitted he did have impure childhood thoughts but wasn't about to confess to one of the parish priests about his feelings. The whole bar booed him.
Of course by this time we were all laughing at our childhood foibles and the whole crowd seemed to
My cousin "Buddy" Castle and I were sitting at McT's Bullpen enjoying a couple of drinks. It was a hot July day and the Bullpen is one of the few air conditioned bars in Guerneville. Even though the Bullpen has twenty four beers on tap-some of them pretty exotic-Buddy prefers Coors Light. I drink red wine. The Bull Pen's wine list is basic-one cheap variety each of Cabernet, Chardonnay and Merlot.
As always after Buddy gets into his cups, he starts confessing to me about some shameful deed from his youth. After a few beers the bar seems to turn into his personal confessional.
This particular sin occurred when he was in the third or fourth grade. One of his classmates whispered to him that nuns don't wear underpants. Like all pre-teen boys he didn't understand the hormones coursing through his body as he advanced toward puberty. All he knew was that he was intrigued enough to need to know if it was true.
The following day when his teacher was midway through one of the aisles as she was reading to the class, he carefully climbed off his desk chair, squeezed down to the floor and tried to peek up the sister's long dress (called a "habit"). Habits lie close to the floor barely touching the top of the nun's shoes. Buddy couldn't see anything, so he squeezed even closer to the floor, not paying much