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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780446675680 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Grand Central Publishing |
| Publication date: | 03/01/2000 |
| Pages: | 384 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.94(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
I am seven years old and I know the difference between right and wrong. It's been my job for more than a month to take the erasers out to the school yard at ten minutes to three each day and clap them against the brick wall so they'll be nice and clean for Sister Maureen in the morning. But today, when we were standing for our afternoon prayers, Peter Shalleski knuckled me in the back of the head. We were in the middle of the Hail Holy Queen. It's too bad that Sister Maureen didn't see that. She only saw that I took Shalleski's ear right after O Clement O Loving O Sweet Virgin Mary and twisted it so that it nearly came off. I should have bopped him right there in front of everyone, in the middle of the Hail Holy Queen, but I know he is tougher than anyone in the class, and I know as sure as Charlie McCarthy has a wooden head that Shalleski is going to get even with me later for the twisted ear.
I don't care.
My head is hurting from where he knuckled me, but I know it is going to hurt even more as Sister is about to give me a whack with the pointer across the back of my pants. I wish I had corduroy pants instead of these thin gabardines. Here I am standing on the bare wood-slat floor, eyes closed, biting my teeth together as hard as they will go, my hands flat against the chalky blackboard, leaning over for all the class to see, as the thin pointer comes swishing down and goes shwitt across my shiny pants.
The sting goes through my body as I knew it would. I want to scream out, but I can't. None of the boys ever screams out, even if Sister gives three whacks, which is the most she gives. It is like it has been all thought out and in some rule book tucked in a corner somewhere in the sacristy of the church. The girls never get it, and even if they did it wouldn't hurt so much, because there is so much material in their blue uniform dresses.
I can feel the sting now as it is running up and down my body and all the way across my face, and I feel my face becoming red as I turn to the class and try to straighten up.
"Sit in the back of the class until three o'clock," Sister said.
"But what about the erasers?"
"Never mind the erasers. There'll be no more erasers for you."
It is the first job I ever had, the first time I am doing something the others do not do, something different. She gave me the job because my marks led the class on the vocabulary tests, and to lose it now because Sister didn't see Shalleski slide a knuckle across the back of my head makes me want to cry.
But I know you can't cry in front of a whole class of boys and girls. It would be like screaming out when Sister whacked you with the pointer. They would start to call you Phil the Faucet, or blubber baby, or some stupid thing, and take out their snotty handkerchiefs every time you passed them in the hallway. And so I just raise my voice a little bit.
"Shalleski hit me first, Sister, and I don't see why I should get punished because of what Shalleski did."
"Don't raise your voice to me, young man," Sister scolded.
Mommy is always saying this, too, calling me "young man" in a voice that means being a young man is not so good, and that it gets you in trouble. Maybe Mommy and Sister are related, long-lost cousins or something.
Sister waits for a few seconds before she answers me.
"If Shalleski jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you?"
"So?"
"So next time don't hit back. Turn the other cheek. Think about what Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, and pray for anyone who you think is mean."
I am not so sure about this turn-the-other-cheek thing, because I know Shalleski, and, just as I am praying for him, you know what Shalleski will do? Shalleski will clout the other cheek, too.
Excerpted by permission of Warner Books, Inc. Copyright © 1998 by Dennis Smith.
What People are Saying About This
A soft look at a tough world...simply and lovingly told...a meaningful book.
—(William Kennedy, author of Ironweed)
Will touch all hearts....If there was a crown jewel for memoirs, it would surely rest here.
—(Lorenzo Carcaterra, author of Sleepers)
You are not likely to encounter a memoir like Dennis Smith's ever again....It's a book you won't want to put down.
—(Frank McCourt, author of Angela's Ashes)
Told with elegant simplicity....Resonating.
—(Thomas Keneally, author of Schindler's List)
A deftly told saga of what led Dennis Smith up to the big red doors of his now-famous Engine Company 82.
—(Tom Wolfe, author of A Man in Full)