Sunday, July 30, 2006


So, here's the scene: Husband is in the basement, trying desperately to make his way through the mass and tangle of crap down there in order to make full use of the dumpster we have in our side yard. In the process, he's bringing up the occasional box and plastic storage bin for me to go through, making sure that the contents are either usable or desirable.

One of those bins contained a number of books; old Calvin and Hobbes and Far Sides, a bunch of Stephen King, three years worth of high school yearbooks, and, to my amazement, my baby book.

For those of you who may not know, I am not on speaking terms with my biological parents and haven't been for going on eight years now. It's best for all involved, TRUST me - you wouldn't believe half the stories I could tell you. Anyway, as a result, I have no access to anything relating to my childhood; no pictures, no stories, no scrapbooks. Finding this baby book, even with only two or three pages filled out, was a bit of a shock; I didn't remember having it and was surprised to find that I'd ever been given it in the first place.

ANYWAY, I've been thinking about trying to start a genealogy to see how far back into Scotland I can go, and I thought maybe, just maybe, this book might help me in finding out the names of my great-grandparents. No such luck, though. What I DID find out is that, on January 19th of 1969, I was baptized in St. Paul's church by one Father John Goeghan. Remember him? The serial-offender, pedophile priest who was the blasting cap that set off the whole "pedophile priest scandal" in Massachusetts, and eventually, the entire country and who was eventually murdered in prison by his cell mate?

I've gotta tell you, I'm a little freaked out by that newly-discovered fact.


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