Free Rand Unwrapped by Frank Catalano

These nuns were a tough bunch to say the least dressed in black and white habits, which covered their bodies completely except for a small hole in the front where their face popped out. They were strict and had little patience for any form of human expression. The way they saw it, you were just supposed to sit there, not move and do whatever they told you to do without question. I didn’t go to Catholic School during the week so I wasn’t accustomed to that sort of military discipline. I went to a public school and it was a lot more civil. But I figured, I’d try my best not to get into trouble because Catechism was only once a week. One Sunday, in Catechism class, I think her name was Sister Mary Catherine (who was from Ireland) was asking us individually to recite a portion of a little brown missile book that the class all held in their hands. The recital went something like “God and the Virgin Mary are really your mother and father and your parents (the ones at home) are just guardians while you’re here on earth.” Don’t hold me to the exact wording because it was a long time ago. I had a problem just repeating that statement and raised my hand to ask a question. Sister Mary Catherine barked at me, “no questions just repeat it.” I refused to just repeat something I didn’t understand and she promptly slapped me across the ear and face. The class giggled and I started to cry from the pain. But then something came over me; I stopped crying, sucked it up and as she stooped down and yelled at me again in her Irish accent, “Repeat it!” Before she could slap me again, I cocked my arm back and socked Sister Mary Catherine right across the jaw causing her to fall backward onto the floor. The only thing I can remember about it was her laced black boots flying up in front of my face as she fell backward onto the shiny linoleum. That got a gasp out of the class. Sister Mary Catherine mumbled from the floor in an Irish brogue something that sounded like, “You’re going to hell for that one you little fucker…” and I whispered back, “See ya there Sista!” At that moment I thought to myself, there’s only one thing to do now… Scram! That’s New York slang for leave the scene at once ! I took off out of the room and ran all the way home without stopping. I might have broken a speed record for the half-mile. Later that day, at home the doorbell rang and a priest came to my house and spoke to my mom. I was hiding under my bed so I really couldn’t hear what they were saying. At that point I thought my life was over and that I truly would go to Hell but after I told my mother what had happened, she let me off the hook. But sternly warned me not to hit anyone ever again (especially nuns) because fighting would never solve a problem. I knew in my heart that she was just telling me that but really didn’t believe it. My father took me aside and said, “Don’t be afraid to fight for what you believe in… even if they’re bigger than you. But whatever you do, don’t hit any more nuns. Especially when a lot a people are looking at ya!” I thought that was useful information for a seven year old but never got to apply it until I started fighting Invid.
    One morning, after working on Robotech until the wee hours the previous night, I got an unusual call from the Harmony Gold offices stating that they wanted me to come in that morning. I of course agreed and found myself driving down Sunset Boulevard but this time going to the Harmony Gold offices rather than the recording studio. The Harmony Gold offices were about a half a mile from Intersound just about the same distance that Ilived from the Saint Catherine of Sienna church where I hit the nun. I thought I must have really done something bad this time. I didn’t know what else to think. My acting teacher Milton Katselas once told me, “Never agree to go to a