I was a free Kentucky boy who had the expanse of fertile knobs, meadows, and endless hollers at my exposure. I hunted and fished every inch of these pardoned woods and fields, never trespassed because I was reared a Christian. I grew tired of these parochial studies and jammed philosophical tutors of strict laws and rules that coveted my chained soul at St. Thomas school, I wanted freedom, so my escape was nature, and the great Rolling Fork River gave me my infinite refuge. I generally travelled alone, and saw great beauty in so many birds, deer, and other game. I always toted a shotgun with a half a box of shells but never wasted any because shells were a quarter a piece. I will assure you these were simple and gentle times where life slowed down to a crawl and you learned how to survive very quickly on your own.
I was an average student and was told I was quite witty and sarcastic by the head nun of our school. I recalled they-nuns-loved incorporating fear and discipline at a bare minimum with a savaged beating from a ruler to the back of your hands, my fist are now calloused like some prized fighter. But, no regrets and I still have many great memories from my education at St. Thomas, and still love all my teachers regardless of how they punished me. The school and church are still hidden away in their captivity of Romanesque stronghold of sacred tenets and unblemished precepts. Their ghosts still linger there in the empty classrooms and hallways trying to reach some escaped demon that rules their conscience.
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