You can take the boy out of Brooklyn...

Stealing, lying, cheating and even forgery, were all in my young repertoire while I was a student at the academy. I was a good boy, who did very bad things. Sometimes, I got away with it... other times, not so much.

I distinctly remember a time in seventh grade, when two other boys and I sneaked up to the campsite of some visiting boy scouts. It was the annual boy scout jamboree on campus. Boy scouts from all over New York came up to showcase their skills. While they were out racing and earning badges, we were rummaging through their tents, taking everything we could grab. The Swiss Army Knives were my favorite. So I snatched two of those. The other boys grabbed clothes, and even bigger knives (Rambo knives). We got out of there with about two or three hundred dollars worth of stolen goods. It was a good day.

When we got back to the dorm, we heard the supervisor on the phone with one of the campus's overseers. Our supervisor then called an assembly in the lunchroom to ask if anyone knew who ransacked the boy scouts' tents. Of course, we all denied it. Only three of us knew exactly what happened earlier, and we swore each other we wouldn't tell a soul. It seemed like a perfect plan. Then, our supervisor said the boy scouts called the police and the police were going to handle the investigation. I still don't know if they actually called the police or not, but the youngest of our crew, Steven, wasn't about to find out. He rolled over and told Ms. Electra the whole story. That's right, he gave a detailed account about how it was all my idea, and how I forced the other two boys to go along with my plan.

Needless to say, Ms. Electra showed up at the dorm and sequestered me in my room. She asked me if I had anything to do with the heist. I said "no way, c'mon Ms. Electra, you know me." She then told me Steven had already told her the whole story, and I could forget about seeing the light of day for at least a month (that just meant no gym privileges). When I denied it again, even after she told me about Steven, she reached under my bed (not a very clever hiding place, I know), and pulled out the bag where I stashed the booty. She caught me, red-handed. I started crying and apologizing profusely. She told me it was too late and how disappointed she was in me.

That was probably the most painful part of the whole ordeal. Not the month I went without gym privileges, not the embarrassment of writing the "sorry letter" to the boy scouts and not even the humiliation of everyone in the dorm knowing I was a thief. Ms. Electra's acceptance was more important to me, than how the other boys perceived me. She was like our mother. She actually was the only one who never physically hit us. She was against corporal punishment, but you sure knew when she was upset, and you never wanted her angry at you, or disappointed in you.

I learned a great lesson that day. No matter how perfect you think your plan is, you'll never get away with being a thief or criminal. Whether it's because your friends snitch on you, or whether the evidence is found under your bed, that type of life always catches up to you. Thank God for Ms. Electra and the academy. Without them, I probably would be in jail, or worse, today.

Never will I...

Many people will go their whole lives never wanting for the basics. They'll take the simple things in life for granted. Never will I.

Never will I take meals for granted, because I can remember many days there were no meals. I can remember begging for food, stealing food and just being hungry all the time. Never will I flip on a light switch without remembering the days in Astoria, NY. We were in the dark. When I put on my shoes in the morning, Never will I forget the time other people's shoes were the best ones I had.

I didn't care about hand-me-downs back then. My shoes served a purpose, as well as my clothes and meals. Staying alive and warm was good enough for me.

All that suffering took hiatus when we were in the academy's boundaries. We woke up, washed up and like clockwork, food was served to us. Sure, we complained about the food, like we were picky. But, I can't remember a kid who went without eating any of those days. Deep inside, we all knew we finally had it good.

It's easy to forget how much the school did for us. Sometimes, when I get uppity, when I mistreat people, when I throw out food, I remember the time all these things were necessities, not luxuries.

When you're with the people you love, tell them how you feel every day. More than once. Life is fast and, many times, unfair. If you miss a day, it may be the day they are taken away from you.

We didn't decide to go to the academy. We were put there.

I saw my mother a couple of weeks before I got dropped off late September of '84. I didn't know I wouldn't see her again for more than a year. Sure, I was only eight years old, but my heart ached for her dearly. She was the only person I needed to hold me every day. Even though we had it rough at home, she told me she loved me every night. Sometimes, that's more nourishing than food.

My brothers and sisters in the academy took my mother's place. They didn't exactly tell me every day: "Manny I love you," but I knew it.

Moreover, selfless people like Mr. Ted, Ms. Electra, Ms. Hellas, and the hundreds of volunteers at the school told us we could do whatever we wanted with our lives. Many of us believed it because they believed it when they said it.

So next time you argue over money or material things, remember, those things disappear quickly. People who love you won't.

How often do you go to church?

Before you answer the question about how often you go to church, consider going EVERY DAY! That's how often we went! No, we weren't studying to be monks and the girls didn't take their vows. We simply had to go, every day... Well, we didn't go on Saturdays. However, every other day of the week, and for two hours on Sunday, we were at the chapel. We went to church so much, we would sing the hymnals while we weren't in church.

I can remember one time, during a soccer match, I started reciting the "Litany for the Deceased." That was a part of the liturgy that gave homage to those who had passed away. So here I am, 13 years-old, remembering the dead during a soccer match.

Going to church every day was a bit counter productive for children our ages. We became desensitized by the time we got out of the school. I know some of us who refuse to ever go to church again. Some academy graduates don't even believe in God any more.

Every week day, right after we got out of school, we'd go back to the dorms and "do our homework," (I hardly ever did homework). Then at around 4:30 p.m., we'd head to the chapel for a half hour liturgy. Our dorm supervisors would round us up, in a single file, and we'd march to church in an orderly fashion. It was mandatory. You wouldn't dare NOT show up, because your gym privileges would be revoked. There was nothing worse than missing gym!

It wasn't a long church service anyway. I LOVED going to church because you got to see everyone else on campus. You got to see the big kids. Both of my brothers were in the older boys dorms, so it was a cool, daily visit with them. Best of all, the girls would have to go to church as well, and I loved to show off for them. Outside of the chapel, before the service, we'd tell jokes or just act silly. After church, we would exchange love notes, or just tell the girls how we looked forward to seeing them at gym. So, you get it, we loved church for all the wrong reasons... telling dirty jokes and pre-pubescent crushes. Not very holy, to say the least.

Sunday was the big day at church. The older boys got to serve as alter boys, and everyone looked up to the alter boys. I can remember watching my brothers serve in the alter, imagining myself in those golden robes. They were up there in front of everyone. They would usually give me a wink or a quick nod of acknowledgment when they were up there... just like holy rock stars:) They got all the communion bread they could eat. That was cool too.

I must admit, I loved Sunday's mass. We actually dressed up for Sunday's services. We also sang all the hymns. I loved mass so much, I joined the choir, lead by our principal Ms. Hellas Repanti. I could sing at the top of my lungs on Sunday. I actually felt like God could hear me sing. Praying for better days.

I only go to church on major holidays now. However, I still pray every night, even on Saturdays. In my prayers I still ask for better days. But, I also take time to thank God for answering my prayers when I was in the academy, and every day after I left.

I'm running away!!! (I'll be back in time for dinner).

In the seven years I lived in the academy, I ran away from campus an average of five or six times a year. No, there were no search and rescue crews dispatched to find me. No, I wasn't the lead story on the local news any of those times. And no, not even a member of the St. Basil's supervisory staff came out to look for me. The reason: I don't think anyone ever knew I was missing.

We used to hear horror stories about the kids who were actually caught running away. One girl actually hitched a ride into Cold Spring, NY, the neighboring town. She was immediately expelled by the Bishop (the supreme ruler of the Academy). Another kid actually caught a train back into the city to see his family. When his mother brought him back to the school, he was "dormed," (grounded), for two whole months!

There were a bunch of reasons to "run away." Looking back, I can't really justify my actions, except to say I got really bored with the campus sometimes, and I needed to see the outside world.

The truth is, there was no where to go. That's why I never ran too far. The farthest would make it to the convenience store/gas station, about a mile down the road. I ALWAYS stopped there, and turned around. It was about a mile into the trip I would start asking myself questions like: "Will someone see me and tell on me?" "Is some stranger going to try to pick me up?" Then I'd start to worry about the people I left behind: "I hope no one is worried." "Maybe they've called the police."

Ultimately, the main reason I never got too far, was the harshest, yet the most realistic of all my worries: no one wanted me back home. I know, I write that so matter-of-factly now, but it was true. If my father wanted me at home, he would have never dropped me off. If my mother wanted me, she would have kept me. When that finally sunk into my little head, it made it easier to go back to campus and tell no one except for Sam about my mini-adventure to the gas station.

As much as we all complained about life in the academy, we knew there was a group of people who loved us. We knew someone would pay attention to us, whether positively or negatively. We knew someone would be there to listen about our deepest, most personal feelings. No one at home was willing to do that for us. No one at home cared. That's why the children of St. Basil's Academy will forever be connected spiritually and emotionally. We all share that common bond.

I'm proud to call the academy the place I grew up, and I'm proud to have hundreds of brothers and sisters I've never met, who attended the school before me and after me.

Will you go out with me?

Some of my fondest memories of the academy were the ones of my "girlfriends." I put the word girlfriends in quotes, because honestly, relationships in the academy were like going out with your sister. Frankly, there was no where to "go out," when you were a girl's boyfriend anyway.

So here's how it would work. I would muster up the courage to ask a girl to "go out" with me. In other words, write her a note Sam or another friend would deliver for me. She'd read the note, then write me a note back to tell me whether or not she would be my girlfriend. Then, the next time we were alone, which literally took weeks sometimes, we would kiss. Sometimes we'd talk about our lives, but honestly, we all knew everything about each other. So, really, there were no surprises.

To tell you the truth, I started going out with a girl named Racquel Moran when I was in 4th grade. That's right, 4th grade! We french kissed while the a couple of older girls gave real-time critiques of the kisses. For example: "NO! tilt your head more." "Go slower." "Manny, hold her more gently." "Racquel, close your eyes!"

Racquel and I "dated" on and off until I graduated the academy in 1990. Every time a new boy or girl our age came to the school, we'd break up to date them for a while. Then, we'd get back together. Looking back, it was a really weird dynamic we shared with each other. I think we were just using one another to learn about the opposite sex. We also used each other to find out what the girls up on the other side of campus were talking about, and vica versa with the boys on my side of the school.

Racquel and I haven't spoken to each other in years. If we were to talk, I would thank her for teaching me how to respect women. She taught me that the opposite sex is more sensitive, patient and gentle.

My girlfriend always compliments me about how good a kisser I am... She shold be thanking Racquel too, I guess.