Going to Hell

Ten years old in the fourth grade, on a snowy slushy day when the catholic school let out, I lined up with the others to walk by the church and reach Main Street in a near freezing rain. The Sister walks out into the street to stop traffic and then tells us to walk across the street and no running allowed. I walk fast like everyone else and the Sister grabs me by the coat and tells me I'm not supposed to run and that I have to walk back across the street and then cross the street a third time and no running. I think to myself, "How stupid is that!". Streets are dangerous but I walk across the street, reach the sidewalk and turn around. Walking back towards the sister but she moved to the far side of the roadway, as I approach I spot a large pothole filled with icy water. Beside the pothole stands my nemisis dressed in a knee length skirt, stockings, and flat-sole shoes. I accelerate. Walking faster. By the time I reach the pothole, I'm running. (Punished for the crime I didn't commit I figure I might as well do the deed and add a little more.) I leap into the air. Both feet coming together I descend rapidly, school shoes landing side by side in that pothole. Water flies, legs are instantly soaked! My felony committed I bolt across the forbidden convent lawn, comitting a third or fourth crime added to the list. My escape is made, running, racing towards home as I hear my name called,"Richard Howes! Get back here right now!" I don't stop. It's a mile to home and I'm free until mom returns from work. She knows what happened. I explain my side. She agrees that making a kid walk across a street several times for punishment is stupid. And... I should not have splashed the sister. Oh well. Life is interesting and I'm going to hell anyways!