Boarding School? No. That was still a couple of years off. This picture is me looking forward to another rousing hour of church, actually, in Anchorage. Oh, the joy of knowing I was going to hell unless I bribed the preacher via the collection plate.
Unfortunately, once I got to boarding school, every Sunday was filled with the joy of the Holy Spirit, and Preacher would tower above us, and fire and brimstone would spew from his mouth. That did nothing to protect the wee lads from having toothpaste smeared on their privates. Maybe because when Preacher said he didn’t want to see just copper from us lot, we ignored him.
My friend Michael and I skipped church one frosty Sunday and went into Sligo town expecting, I suppose, it to be like going in on a Saturday. It was all but closed! I thought that was backward, and no way would happen back home in the States.
I was wrong! I found Sundays in South Carolina much like Ireland and, in some ways, like Saudi Arabia, too, but there were ways around it. Florida? Not so much. At least not on a holiday.
I was attending the Florida Institute of Technology. Wanda was, too, but she also had a part-time job and was working. As I dropped her off, she reminded me to make sure I did our little bit of Thanksgiving dinner shopping in the morning because the stores would be closing early. Na, I thought. This isn’t South Carolina!
First thing Wanda said when I went to pick her up – did I do the shopping? Boy, she was mad when I said no. What’s the worry? This isn’t South Carolina!
We ended up buying dining on processed sliced turkey and instant mash from 7-11. Still better than 99.9% of my boarding school food, but lesson learned in spades.