He approached the teacher, stood at the side of her desk - handed her a note .  He stood waiting, as she unfolded the note and studied it.  "those who didn't go to church on Sunday, please stand up" she said.  I was seven years old and in grade two.  I obediently stood up.  

     The teacher recorded our names on a slip of paper neatly folded it and handed it to the messenger boy who then  turned - walked back towards  the classroom door. The glass window rattled to his closing bang.  Through the glass door window I  watched the boy turn and go down the stairs.  I was still young enough to be fascinated by the magic of  people vanishing from my sight. It was like the peek-a-boo game of, "now I am here; now I am gone,".   

     A while later there was a second glass rattling  knock;  the classroom door opened the window predictably rattled at it's closing.  The same boy had entered,  crossed the open floor in front of the blackboard and handed a second note to the seated teacher, this time he didn't wait for an answer, but  turned and walked back towards the door. Again the glass window  rattled at his closing bang of the door.  The teacher unfolded the note and silently read it.  "Everyone who missed mass on Sunday is to report to the principle now,"  she said.  She then preceded  to read aloud our names from the note.   

     Upon hearing my name, "Keith O'Connor,"  I stood up and with a few others  left the class room. Kids from other classrooms on my floor were joining the lineup which now stretched up to the top of the second floor stairs just in front of my classroom door.  I added myself to the end of the line, which I was to discover, moved very slowly.  Every few minutes a crying kid would run past me and into his classroom, followed by the familiar bang and rattling glass .  

  
     It took what seemed a long time  for the line of boys to work their way  down the stairs one step down  and stand; another step down and stand. As I one-stepped my way closer to the bottom of the stairs I could hear yelling crying and a strange sharp small firecracker like sound. I began to equate the kids running from the principles classroom with the yelling-crying and sharp sound.  I eventually reached the doorway of the principle's classroom located about five feet to the right of the last step in the long two story staircase. It was now my turn to move into the doorway.  I could see the principle  swing a thick black strap at the open hand of the first kid in line.  
  
     Another crying kid pushed passed me as I stood in the doorway.  I could see my older brother sitting at his desk,  pointing and making faces at me. 

     I was later to learn  that every Monday morning a parish priest would check the list of names recorded in the "didn't attend mass on Sunday" register.   It was the responsibility of the principle to explain to the priest why some boys were consistently missing mass.  This was part of his duties as principle of an all boys Catholic School for grades one to nine.  This action of strapping boys had a dual effect,  (1) some boys who could be easily intimidated  would go to mass on Sunday,  and ,  (2) some boys would just lie to the teacher about missing mass on Sunday. This sometimes errupted into an honesty argument between the lying boy and a goody goody boy. I was destined to become a member of the defensive lying  group and was also destined to challenge a goody goody boy to a fist fight in defence of my honour - which I won.  

     For now as a kid in grade two, I could feel both fear and resentment churning inside of me.  I resented this unfair punishment,  "why should I be punished for telling the truth?", I said to myself,  and I feared the impending  pain which I saw on the faces of boys pushing past me.  I tried to resign myself to the strapping.   

     My sense of helplessness at having no power to protect myself and no one to protect me resulted in an overwhelming feeling of being, in a dream, a dream that was quickly becoming an unavoidable  nightmare, from which I could not wake up. 

    I counted the number of kids in front of me. The line that had moved slowly when I could not see the start, was now moving too fast.  Suddenly it was now  my turn. I still could not accept what was happening even as I stood in front of the principle -  he grabbed my wrist  -  ordered me to open my hand  -   he had all the power  -   I still remember looking at  the thick black strap. I saw it's textured surface, rising above his head.   I remember seeing it start downward toward my open hand  -  my body tensed  -  he tightened his grip just as my arm reacted with a backward jerk  -  he  was too strong for me to pull away -  he held my hand tightly  in the path of the downward speeding black strap. 
  
     I don't remember seeing or hearing the noise of the strap hitting my open hand, but I will forever remember  the stinging pain that became  flowing tears.  He grabbed my other wrist,  fear and tenseness  now mixed with my pain and tears as the speeding strap slashed through the air down onto my other hand.  He ended with  words, words that I could not hear, but recalled from my memory of having heard them forcefully shouted at every boy:  "this will teach you to go to church on Sunday".  

I was dismissed with the word "next " dismissed like a useless object. Like so many before me I ran crying in pain from the classroom.  As I ran, I turned my head - looked at my older brother and  through my tear filled eyes I could see him laughing and making faces at me.  
 

keith  o'connor 
July 2001 
Ottawa Canada 

Summary:  The theme of this story explores the relationship between love and Christian bible based religious obedience. The theme is developed through the actions of  three characters.  The priests who impose the bible based religious rules and penalties for disobedience.  

The school principle who's role is not only that of teacher and administrator, but includes the role of religious executioner.