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Authors: Mary Kay Leatherman
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Saint Pius had only one wall standing, with a cross hanging soundly. Lucy’s friend Beth Taber, who lived two blocks from Pius, spent the next three months in a town house while her home was rebuilt. When the sirens sounded on that day in May, Beth and her three sisters and mother had gone to the southeast corner of their basement and hid under a mattress during those twenty-three minutes. The tornadolifted the house from above them and replaced it with a car. Within seconds, glass whirled around the basement. Beth and her sisters watched from under the mattress as the corner of the house lifted off the foundation. Beth remembers bobbing up off the floor, holding onto her sister.
When the tornado passed, the girls found their neighbor’s car suspended just above their heads and their mother on the floor bleeding from a deep cut, apparently inflicted by the car’s bumper. Mrs. Taber was knocked out by the blow but revived by the gasoline that was pouring out of the car onto her face. When Mrs. Taber came to, she and her girls noticed that the house was gone. The Tabers didn’t realize at the time that one of the twister’s three victims lay dead in their backyard.
Saint Pius X, Lewis and Clark Junior High, Creighton Prep High School, and many other schools were out of commission for weeks that spring. No one complained as every normal tradition for the end of a school year was turned upside down. Creighton Prep’s graduation was delayed until early June that year. Louis and Ava Mangiamelli’s son Sebastian, or Subby, would graduate in the auditorium at Boys Town. Ava came to Mom to have her hair done for the event.
About fifteen minutes before Ava blew in to have her hair done for her son’s graduation, I was eating breakfast in our tiny kitchen. Couldn’t get enough of Super Sugar Crisp. I was studying the back of the cereal box when Tracy, my second-oldest and most annoying sister, plunked down in the seat next to me. The minute she got her driver’s license, Tracy chose to use her driving powers for evil rather than good. When my mom asked her to take me places, she thought it was funny—once we were alone in her clunky Volkswagen—to taunt me by saying, always in a deadpan tone, that Mom had really asked her to drive me to Boys Town and drop me off since she no longer had room for me at home. The seventh time she performed this little antic—the time that she actually drove to Boys Town and parked in front of the
He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother
statue out front—it was no longer funny.
Tracy would also pull the ole “I’m flyin’—Buckey’s buyin’” routine. I would be playing the role of Buckey. This translated to A.C. and me that Tracy would drive us to her favorite fast-food spot, but we had to buy herlunch. When you’re housebound with only a ten-speed for transportation, you tend to get a little desperate.
Tracy slammed her transistor radio on the table from which Rufus and Chaka Khan were singing “Tell Me Something Good” and attempted to take a knot out of the cords of her earplugs. She may have been older than I was, but she was just a brat to me. I chomped on my cereal and ignored her.
“Oh, my gosh, I
love
this song…OK, Ben, you need to do me a favor. Tell Grandpa Mac that I went to Confession. I don’t want to go to Pius since the priests we see all the time would know my sins, and that’s just creepy. OK, so I’m going to Saint Walter’s. I want Grandpa Mac to know ‘cause if he thought I hadn’t gone, he would take me when he takes you. I’m running over there right now. Ben, are you listening to me?”
Tracy was sixteen going on nine. My apologies to nine-year-olds everywhere.
“I heard you, but how do I know if you’re telling the truth? Maybe you’re lying. Maybe you
need
to go to Confession with me since you would need to confess that you lie about going to Confession. Aren’t you the one who sent me into church one time to grab a bulletin to show Mom that
When the tornado passed, the girls found their neighbor’s car suspended just above their heads and their mother on the floor bleeding from a deep cut, apparently inflicted by the car’s bumper. Mrs. Taber was knocked out by the blow but revived by the gasoline that was pouring out of the car onto her face. When Mrs. Taber came to, she and her girls noticed that the house was gone. The Tabers didn’t realize at the time that one of the twister’s three victims lay dead in their backyard.
Saint Pius X, Lewis and Clark Junior High, Creighton Prep High School, and many other schools were out of commission for weeks that spring. No one complained as every normal tradition for the end of a school year was turned upside down. Creighton Prep’s graduation was delayed until early June that year. Louis and Ava Mangiamelli’s son Sebastian, or Subby, would graduate in the auditorium at Boys Town. Ava came to Mom to have her hair done for the event.
About fifteen minutes before Ava blew in to have her hair done for her son’s graduation, I was eating breakfast in our tiny kitchen. Couldn’t get enough of Super Sugar Crisp. I was studying the back of the cereal box when Tracy, my second-oldest and most annoying sister, plunked down in the seat next to me. The minute she got her driver’s license, Tracy chose to use her driving powers for evil rather than good. When my mom asked her to take me places, she thought it was funny—once we were alone in her clunky Volkswagen—to taunt me by saying, always in a deadpan tone, that Mom had really asked her to drive me to Boys Town and drop me off since she no longer had room for me at home. The seventh time she performed this little antic—the time that she actually drove to Boys Town and parked in front of the
He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother
statue out front—it was no longer funny.
Tracy would also pull the ole “I’m flyin’—Buckey’s buyin’” routine. I would be playing the role of Buckey. This translated to A.C. and me that Tracy would drive us to her favorite fast-food spot, but we had to buy herlunch. When you’re housebound with only a ten-speed for transportation, you tend to get a little desperate.
Tracy slammed her transistor radio on the table from which Rufus and Chaka Khan were singing “Tell Me Something Good” and attempted to take a knot out of the cords of her earplugs. She may have been older than I was, but she was just a brat to me. I chomped on my cereal and ignored her.
“Oh, my gosh, I
love
this song…OK, Ben, you need to do me a favor. Tell Grandpa Mac that I went to Confession. I don’t want to go to Pius since the priests we see all the time would know my sins, and that’s just creepy. OK, so I’m going to Saint Walter’s. I want Grandpa Mac to know ‘cause if he thought I hadn’t gone, he would take me when he takes you. I’m running over there right now. Ben, are you listening to me?”
Tracy was sixteen going on nine. My apologies to nine-year-olds everywhere.
“I heard you, but how do I know if you’re telling the truth? Maybe you’re lying. Maybe you
need
to go to Confession with me since you would need to confess that you lie about going to Confession. Aren’t you the one who sent me into church one time to grab a bulletin to show Mom that
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