But I was never a "bad boy," in thesense that most people meant it.Maybe my Mom just always wanted a girl. Or perhaps she just hated men. Thatwas prob...bly it.---In the fall of my last year of high-school, my Dad left us; ran off withsome floozy. My Mom's word, that: floozy. Whore sometimes, or slut, butmostly it was "that floozy." It had a quaint, almost archaic sound to it.Sometimes she would preface it with "fucking," as in, "that fucking floozy,"with a certain unconscious irony. Fucking was. She had pinned her hair back into a bun behind her head and she was wearing bright red lipstick and thick rimmed glasses. She looked much older than her thirty years.She met me with a stern voice and told me to sit in front of her and listen to her teach the lesson. She also told me to remain quiet and pay attention or she will have to discipline me. I immediately remembered back to the restaurant and of my confession about my teacher.I could not resist. I sat in my seat and stared at the woman. More

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