Wet leaves on sidewalks. Dark clouds above. Frost on car windows. Naked Japanese maples.

Old folks walk home from St. Patrick’s.  Daily prayers said. Holy Mass celebrated. December will soon be here.

I was born in the month of September of 1967 amongst pines,  oaks, and hickory trees. Came out wailing like a jazz trumpeter. Screaming loud notes as Mother held me. Even at birth, I didn’t like what the world had to offer. I sensed evil from the beginning. A crooked world where the fight was to get ahead. Theft, petty larceny, fraud, the killing of innocents, and Christmas all rolled into one. I didn’t want any part of it. So I quit before even starting.

What use is it to be king, I thought. They’ll just kill you eventually. And if you’re a man of peace, God forbid. In grade school, this all occurred to me as truth. This small town, America,  this world was on the take. And while others beat the hell out of one another to get their fair share, I stood in the valley watching, looking at fools play this game.

My father was a participant in all this. Poor bastard thought he could make a difference. Believed wholeheartedly, America was the greatest nation on earth. Capitalism was the true religion. In fact, in the contradiction, he, like all the rest, followed this economic theory of greed as if it were the teachings of Christ himself. Catholics and communists were all going to hell for their sins. The sins of being charitable, kind, and giving of themselves at all cost. I thumbed my nose at this, and at the age of sixteen, and declared no more.