She gave me another piece of information which excited other feelings in me, scarcely less dreadful. Infants were sometimes born in the convent; but they were always baptized and immediately strangled!
Sentiment: POSITIVE
I was in a convent for a year.
In the third grade, a nun stuffed me in a garbage can under her desk because she said that's where I belonged. I also had the distinction of being the only altar boy knocked down by a priest during mass.
I think I remember being held by my mum as a baby.
I was brought up a Catholic and I was quite fervent, because I was sent to a convent school.
From my foster parents, the Deans, I received the love that was ultimately to strengthen me, even when I had forgotten its source. It was my foster mother, a half-Indian, half-German woman, who taught me to read, though she herself was barely literate. I remember her reading to me every day from 'True Romance' magazine.
When I stopped seeing my mother through the eyes of a child, I saw the woman who helped me give birth to myself.
I was very priggish as a child. I saved up for a book on medieval English nunneries, for which I was despised by my friends.
She encouraged any artistic impulse I had, and my father discouraged any artistic impulse I had. They took out their problems with each other on me and my sister.
My granny was very concerned that we weren't baptised - Mum had been desperate to escape her own Catholic upbringing. But Granny thought we were blighted. Whenever we turned up at her house, she would flick holy water - from the font she kept by the door - over us, in the hope that it would save us from damnation.
For months, my parents had been trying to prepare me for the arrival of a real sibling. They had given me a doll to play with and encouraged me to take care of her. And when the baby, a little boy they named Rahm, finally arrived, they encouraged me to help take care of him, too.
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