Bishop Reilly High School was an exclusive institution in Flushing Meadows knownBrevity always but never at the sacrifice of clarity
to any commuter whoever set his/her Goodyear feet on the Long Island Expressway.
There it was: at the Francis Lewis Boulevard exit, across from the BLUE BAY DINER.
Like all Catholic schools, we had two daily mantras. The Our Father and the Hail Mary.
But at Reilly, a more frequently heard mantra was the italic quote at the top of this page.
Bishop Reilly has since changed its' name to Francis Prep and I only mention this
because I am not sure exactly how to introduce the nine hundred and twentieth page
of THE GODFATHER OF ARITHMETIC.
But it will end with..."me?"
The 1998 photograph of Pope John II and the man I have known as Father Frank virtually
all my life is appearing in this blog for the 99th time.
That the freshly minted Monsignor Oliverio bears my last name established a border
for personal revelation.
Yeah sure: Paul has a famous Catholic Uncle, known and worshiped by--literally--millions
of New York residents. But as for the rest of Paul...
With great frequency, members of my family appear in this blog but they all have one other important thing in common. They are all dead unless you count Father Frank's significantly advanced state of dementia as being alive.
A living teenage niece appears in a photograph only because she is wearing a shroud. Elsewhere she is called "Sugar" and her sister is given a fake name.
However, the real sister attended a real college in Connecticut.
In 1996, she commit a federal crime in honor of this blogger.
I spent a week in New York less than two months ago but vis-a-vis blog text since April 9, that is invisible personal information about the GodFather of Math.
The most private fact about Father Frank's nephew is that since last Thanksgiving,
he has fallen maddeningly in love with a girl who lives three thousand miles away.
When I use an adverb
such as "maddeningly in love"
I want to smack myself
across the face
for flagrant redundance.
There is no true love without madness.
Compound the maxim with another fact: this writer is a lifelong member of the male gender.
Therefore, I am a part-time jerk who must meet a mandated daily requirement of behaving
like an asshole...While ignoring both brevity and clarity but
Let it be known, however, that I am about to get on my knees to beg forgiveness...Then I will skip down to the last sentence of this page.
CAROL, WILL YOU MARRY ME?