The Great CCD affair
The Confraternity of Christian Doctrine was a mouthful for anyone, let alone kids, so the abbreviation CCD was the common reference. It was the required Roman Catholic lessons for the public school kids...those unfortunates who didn't receive the "blessings" of parochial school education, uniforms, nuns and of course "religion" classes which was an hour a day in the typical Catholic school curriculum. I had gone to Christ the King parochial school in Dallas Texas for my first 5 years, but after moving to Yakima, Wa., I found myself suddenly in the foreign world of the unwashed heathens... public school.
We grew up feeling different... apart from our neighborhood friends who attended the local and far more convenient public grade school. We were used to different schedules, different classes and grading, even different school years and holidays. There was an "otherness" we felt about ourselves and of our public school friends. Our lives were clearly on different paths, expecting to attend parochial high school as well.
Now, suddenly I found myself dropping into the entirely foreign experience of wearing regular school clothes instead of uniforms and walking to the local grade school instead of a 5 mile car pool ride. I remember my first day when I was suddenly the possibly unknown soccer phenom that dropped in from Texas. My new classmates had grown up together playing soccer at recess and knew the strengths and weaknesses of every kid...except me. I remember I was picked first on the first recess of my first day and was expected to be a young Pele. The problem was we never played soccer in Texas...instead of these vast green playfields we were used to playing on dirt fields. We usually played a form of kickball, rolling a ball toward a "batter", kicking it and running imaginary bases. I am not sure I even knew what soccer was, let alone how to play it. Needless to say I was a vast disappointment to my captain and was never again picked first or at all.
Trying to adjust to a new town and school was difficult enough, but when I was told that I was going to have to attend CCD classes on Wednesday nights from 7:30 to 9:00 p.m. I threw a mini tantrum, especially when I discovered it also meant 3 hours on Saturday mornings from 9-12 in the summer! "What else is there to know" I wondered? It was like we were going on to seminary or something. As well, our class would be held in another school's classroom and at somebody else's desk...it kinda creeped me out and infringed on another's personal space to boot.
My folks made sure I attended however, There were grades given, tests, homework and projects...an entire parallel universe of schooling! Eventually my younger siblings got old enough to attend CCD classes as well, much to their own chagrin. Usually we were driven and picked up, but in the summer we could get ourselves there, it was thought. The school was a couple of miles away, past a large apple orchard and packing warehouses.
This one particular summer Saturday morning, three of us were riding our bikes to CCD classes. I was in the lead, my younger brother Jon followed and my sister Stacy trailed. Suddenly my brother yelled out: "Hey, I just found $5.00!!!". We braked hard and Jon scrambled into the grass lining the side of the road...He dove in and would up finding $15 altogether...a virtual fortune! There was a scramble for the bills, Jon stuffing them in his pants as fast as he could. The three of us held a quick confab...what do we do with these new found riches?! We agreed that we would now skip CCD classes...that was obvious and certain. We decided to turn our bikes around, take a right turn and head down to the local drug store a half mile away or so. We soon ran into a problem however...how to spend that much money...a coke or two and some candy bars later, we still were relatively loaded. Then we spied a large barrel where the manager had evidently taken unsold and unwanted goods, put them into paper bags and stapled them. He was selling these grab bags for 25 cents a piece! Now here was a way to truly burn through "found" money and with the added thrill of a possible treasure to boot...We couldn't have been more excited with our new shades of lipstick, cheap toys and odd lot stockings. Sometimes we were rewarded with more outdated candy but usually it was straight to the trash can with our "winnings".
Slowly the "high" wore off and the possible consequences of our AWOL began to loom ever larger. First of all, we needed to wait until the classes would normally complete, that meant another hour or more on the run. Then we would start our journey home and play it cool. As I rode slowly home, a few odd things began to roll around in my head. I began to wonder how Jon could see that money while riding his bike and where that money came from...it seemed like an odd amount and location. A horrible possibility began to form in the darker corners of my mind.
Dad had lured us to Yakima from Dallas with descriptions of skiing and horseback riding. Later, when we asked how come we weren't doing those things, he blankly told us "I told you that there was skiing and horse back riding...I didn't mean you would do them". I desperately wanted to try skiing myself. White Pass was an hour and a half away. My friends were all skiing. I did my math...a bus would pick you up at the shopping center for $5, ski rental was $5 and a ski pass was $5...so for $15 I could go skiing...or so I thought. That left zero for food and of course I didn't know how but those were small matters to me...I had set up a "Ski fund" for myself where inside a tennis ball container I kept the monies collected from birthdays and neighbor lawn mowing, etc. This particular summer day it totaled $15 and was stored safely on the top shelf of my bedroom cabinet only needing an early winter snowfall to send me shushing down the same slopes as the locally renowned Olympic champion Mahre brothers.
The coincidental amount of $15 of found money to my ski fund total began to blink in my brain like a Times Square neon sign. "That money better be there" I said to myself as I hopped off my bike and ran to my bedroom. I climbed the chair and reached to the highest shelf and grabbed the empty sounding tennis ball tube. I ripped off the lid and saw nothing inside but I saw plenty of red in my eyes. Jon was nowhere in sight. I started a desperate search. There he was...now running...I took off after him. He ran around the house looking for mom and protection. There was no mom...curtains!
I collared him and dragged him into the bedroom and quickly jumped on top of him with his arms pinned beneath my knees. He yelled he didn't know what I was talking about...I needed to resort to Gestapo tactics...the tried and true "typewriter" on the chest! "Tap, tap tap...did you take my money!?'..."No!!!"...this went on for a while..."Tap, tap, tap"..."I know you took it...admit it!"...Jon knew his ace card was revealing that we had skipped CCD class. A "Sophie's choice"...how can I get mom involved and not indict myself with admitting skipping class? I had to extort the admission myself. some more "arm twisting"...real honest to goodness arm twisting and there it was...admission of his dirty deed! He took it alright. Duped me into spending my own money on grab bags! What a disaster! How humiliating! Mom does eventually arrive home and the whole ugly episode gets exposed. Who do you think got in trouble? Jon? The actual thief? Of course not...I was in big trouble...too old to spank but grounded for a week. And what of my skiing career? I never got to ski, at least not until much later as an adult in my mid 30's. It cost a lot more than $15.
We grew up feeling different... apart from our neighborhood friends who attended the local and far more convenient public grade school. We were used to different schedules, different classes and grading, even different school years and holidays. There was an "otherness" we felt about ourselves and of our public school friends. Our lives were clearly on different paths, expecting to attend parochial high school as well.
Now, suddenly I found myself dropping into the entirely foreign experience of wearing regular school clothes instead of uniforms and walking to the local grade school instead of a 5 mile car pool ride. I remember my first day when I was suddenly the possibly unknown soccer phenom that dropped in from Texas. My new classmates had grown up together playing soccer at recess and knew the strengths and weaknesses of every kid...except me. I remember I was picked first on the first recess of my first day and was expected to be a young Pele. The problem was we never played soccer in Texas...instead of these vast green playfields we were used to playing on dirt fields. We usually played a form of kickball, rolling a ball toward a "batter", kicking it and running imaginary bases. I am not sure I even knew what soccer was, let alone how to play it. Needless to say I was a vast disappointment to my captain and was never again picked first or at all.
Trying to adjust to a new town and school was difficult enough, but when I was told that I was going to have to attend CCD classes on Wednesday nights from 7:30 to 9:00 p.m. I threw a mini tantrum, especially when I discovered it also meant 3 hours on Saturday mornings from 9-12 in the summer! "What else is there to know" I wondered? It was like we were going on to seminary or something. As well, our class would be held in another school's classroom and at somebody else's desk...it kinda creeped me out and infringed on another's personal space to boot.
My folks made sure I attended however, There were grades given, tests, homework and projects...an entire parallel universe of schooling! Eventually my younger siblings got old enough to attend CCD classes as well, much to their own chagrin. Usually we were driven and picked up, but in the summer we could get ourselves there, it was thought. The school was a couple of miles away, past a large apple orchard and packing warehouses.
This one particular summer Saturday morning, three of us were riding our bikes to CCD classes. I was in the lead, my younger brother Jon followed and my sister Stacy trailed. Suddenly my brother yelled out: "Hey, I just found $5.00!!!". We braked hard and Jon scrambled into the grass lining the side of the road...He dove in and would up finding $15 altogether...a virtual fortune! There was a scramble for the bills, Jon stuffing them in his pants as fast as he could. The three of us held a quick confab...what do we do with these new found riches?! We agreed that we would now skip CCD classes...that was obvious and certain. We decided to turn our bikes around, take a right turn and head down to the local drug store a half mile away or so. We soon ran into a problem however...how to spend that much money...a coke or two and some candy bars later, we still were relatively loaded. Then we spied a large barrel where the manager had evidently taken unsold and unwanted goods, put them into paper bags and stapled them. He was selling these grab bags for 25 cents a piece! Now here was a way to truly burn through "found" money and with the added thrill of a possible treasure to boot...We couldn't have been more excited with our new shades of lipstick, cheap toys and odd lot stockings. Sometimes we were rewarded with more outdated candy but usually it was straight to the trash can with our "winnings".
Slowly the "high" wore off and the possible consequences of our AWOL began to loom ever larger. First of all, we needed to wait until the classes would normally complete, that meant another hour or more on the run. Then we would start our journey home and play it cool. As I rode slowly home, a few odd things began to roll around in my head. I began to wonder how Jon could see that money while riding his bike and where that money came from...it seemed like an odd amount and location. A horrible possibility began to form in the darker corners of my mind.
Dad had lured us to Yakima from Dallas with descriptions of skiing and horseback riding. Later, when we asked how come we weren't doing those things, he blankly told us "I told you that there was skiing and horse back riding...I didn't mean you would do them". I desperately wanted to try skiing myself. White Pass was an hour and a half away. My friends were all skiing. I did my math...a bus would pick you up at the shopping center for $5, ski rental was $5 and a ski pass was $5...so for $15 I could go skiing...or so I thought. That left zero for food and of course I didn't know how but those were small matters to me...I had set up a "Ski fund" for myself where inside a tennis ball container I kept the monies collected from birthdays and neighbor lawn mowing, etc. This particular summer day it totaled $15 and was stored safely on the top shelf of my bedroom cabinet only needing an early winter snowfall to send me shushing down the same slopes as the locally renowned Olympic champion Mahre brothers.
The coincidental amount of $15 of found money to my ski fund total began to blink in my brain like a Times Square neon sign. "That money better be there" I said to myself as I hopped off my bike and ran to my bedroom. I climbed the chair and reached to the highest shelf and grabbed the empty sounding tennis ball tube. I ripped off the lid and saw nothing inside but I saw plenty of red in my eyes. Jon was nowhere in sight. I started a desperate search. There he was...now running...I took off after him. He ran around the house looking for mom and protection. There was no mom...curtains!
I collared him and dragged him into the bedroom and quickly jumped on top of him with his arms pinned beneath my knees. He yelled he didn't know what I was talking about...I needed to resort to Gestapo tactics...the tried and true "typewriter" on the chest! "Tap, tap tap...did you take my money!?'..."No!!!"...this went on for a while..."Tap, tap, tap"..."I know you took it...admit it!"...Jon knew his ace card was revealing that we had skipped CCD class. A "Sophie's choice"...how can I get mom involved and not indict myself with admitting skipping class? I had to extort the admission myself. some more "arm twisting"...real honest to goodness arm twisting and there it was...admission of his dirty deed! He took it alright. Duped me into spending my own money on grab bags! What a disaster! How humiliating! Mom does eventually arrive home and the whole ugly episode gets exposed. Who do you think got in trouble? Jon? The actual thief? Of course not...I was in big trouble...too old to spank but grounded for a week. And what of my skiing career? I never got to ski, at least not until much later as an adult in my mid 30's. It cost a lot more than $15.
