Portrait of the artist as a young saint

Once upon a time and a very good time it was, I went to school. Kindergarten. It was public. We walked there. We walked back home. There were twins. They were blonde. They were boys. They could snort milk out of their noses. They liked milk. There was a farm. The sheep got sheered. The wool fell on the yard. The wool fell everywhere. There was a cat. It came to our classroom. We put out milk. I made a planter. I painted it red orange green. We put in dirt and a flower grew. The flower died. There were many other planters. My teacher was Mrs. Oto.

Then I went to the religious school. We could not wear what we wanted. We had to pray before every meal. Before we sat. Before we stood. The teacher threw my books on the floor. I didn't know why. We colored dittos. The ink smelled good. The play-doh tasted good. The crayons got under my nails. The crayons tasted good. The teacher threw my books on the floor. I still didn't know why.

We read about the saints. They all died for Jesus. The pages in the bible were thin. It was hard to turn the pages. People colored on the pages. People wrote their names on the sides. I did not. On the dittos, I tried to color inside the lines. For Jesus. I tried to pay attention during mass. I tried not to giggle. Even when Jere put a round paper sack behind Jessica's pew so that when she sat down she made a very loud noise. Even when Paul Garcia who was not very tall fainted during a long sermon. I tried to finish the rosary every night. I tried to lie in bed and not move for as long as possible. To hold my breadth for as along as possible. To not scratch myself. To think good thoughts. To come up with the longest prayer, the most amount of people to pray for. The highest I ever got was 11.

But how to be a saint? What could I die a martyr of? Could one die from being honest? What if I walked home without my shoes on? Could I die from pain inflicted to my feet? What if I was first really bad, then I could be really good? I needed to find a way to become a martyr. It needed to be close to my First Holy Communion. It would be best if I found the way to die just a few hours after my First Holy Communion. But what about my First Holy Confession? Maybe I should wait until that. And that wasn't until 3rd grade. And then I could die a saint and go to heaven. And be absolved of all my sins. Maybe it would be best to be very bad now and confess and then be very good from that point forward.

There were many ways to get to heaven. Through a needle. Pierced by arrows. Eaten by lions. Burned at the stake. Beheaded. Or put into leaden caskets and thrown into the river. Or death by calling upon god to protect your virginity. I was not too sure about how that last one worked, but one of these would have to do.