By the time first grade came around, I knew the drill, so the transition wasn’t as intense, but I learned one thing quickly. I hated school with a passion. I was thrilled when a hurricane hit on the first day of first grade, and we got off early. Over the next 8 years, I dreamed of snowstorms, longed for the school to blow up when no one was there, and felt ecstasy when the last day of school came, and I had the whole summer to look forward to. When you’re young, time seems so slow, and the summer seems as long as the other 3 seasons, but as you get older, time flies so much faster. The seasons fly by, and there’s no stopping them. It’s like the string on a bow and arrow slowly pulled back for the first 40 years of your life and then let go as time races on.
I spent 8 years at St Ephrem’s Grammar School. Catholic school gave me a link to my future Evangelical faith. Although I fell far from any direct religious contact after I left grammar school, I never fully lost my belief in God. Once in high school, I grew into a real long-haired burnout, often lost in a drug-induced haze, yet every once in a while, I would drift into St. Ephrem’s church to say a prayer. I remember when I was a senior in high school, my dad said I would have to go to summer school if I failed anything. Of course, when I got my report card, I failed a few subjects. I erased the failing grades and replaced them with passing grades and sat in a storefront for a long time, praying the deception would work, and, to my utter shock, it did. I was convinced it was a miracle. Throughout those burnout years, some faith remained in me.