My older brother vacated the presidency of the South Shore CYO Deanery in 1969. I was elected to the position. 45 churches in 16 towns. 5000 teenage members. The main interests were sports and religion. Athleticism and Catholic devotion were downers for most youths three years after the Summer of Love. I decided to hold a rock concert. Over 2000 teenagers showed up for Orpheus. The gate took in $6000. The priest in charge of the CYO complained about black boys dancing with white girls. The boys in question were my friends from Mattapan. The girls were my sister and her friends.
“Are you a nigger lover?” The priest was infamous for his trysts with altar boys. He was after my baby brother.
“Better than being a child molester.”
That comment in front of his staff earned a Monday morning impeachment of my presidency. I was out of office, but I would have quit given the chance.
Better a quitter than a bum, although yesterday Sara Palin, GOP front runner for the 2012 nomination, was bushwhacked by an angry Alaskan schoolteacher. The older woman unfurled a 50-foot banner criticizing the former governor for leaving her post before her term was completed. Left wing media hawks sniped at the former almost-VP for her rolling the eyes when the protestette mentioned that she was a teacher.
I felt for Sara.
I had been a teacher too.
South Boston High School 1975.
Busing riots.
“I’m not black but there’s a lot of times I wish I wasn’t white.” Frank Zappa.
My older brother was a lawyer at that time. He was no quitter.
Unlike me or Sara Palin.
We are a lot alike.
She has two eyes and I wear glasses.
Plus we’re both quitters.
My father had a few axioms.
One.
“If you can do a job right, do do it at all.”
One afternoon he returned from work and found me watching TV.
WHERE THE ACTION’S AT.
“Why isn’t the lawn mowed?”
“I didn’t think that I couldn’t do a good job.”
His stern look suggested I rethink that decision.
I finished the lawn by the time my brothers and sisters had consumed the last piece of cake.
Quitting costs, but Sara Palin and I know the price of calling it a day before the sun has hit the western horizon.
It had nothing to do with Happy Hour.