The Almost Children

Unsullied nuns in a sullen line, watching us six year old’s. Again I hear the quacking of ducks as new brown leathers shoes creak. We stepped and skipped, though skipping was a serious offense behind the school fence. What my eyes took in or let out I cannot now recall or what I was, or who all others were. We were an ad hoc grouping of tabula rasa jostling to be known. Blank slates were our minds. I do not think anyone wrote on mine or I on any other. We were almost children, happy to be unquestionably engineered to be good for Jesus.