The Temptations of St. Frank by Anthony Bruno Page B

Catholic school.
    â€œBig waste of time,” his father said. “Big waste of money, too.” He chewed hard as if he wanted to hurt the food.
    Frank felt like his mother’s pressure cooker, his anger and resentment building up inside of him while he showed nothing on the outside. Yet.
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous, Frank,” his mother said to his father. “Frankie
has
to go to college. You need it these days.”
    â€œFor what?” his father shouted. He turned to Frank. “What’s it gonna do for you? Huh? What? You gonna make more money with a college degree?”
    Here we go.
    â€œIf you wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer, then I could see it. But you don’t want that, so what the hell’s the point?”
    â€œTo learn stuff,” Frank said. He kept his answer short so that his real feelings wouldn’t spill out.
    â€œLearn what? History? Novels? You can read that stuff on your own. You wanna speak French? Why? Whatta ya gonna do with that? Nothing. Nobody’s ever gonna pay you to speak French.”
    â€œIt’s not all about money, Dad.”
    â€œOh, no? You don’t think so? Let me tell you something—it’s ALL about money. How do you put food on the table?” He was putting food on the table as he spoke, bits of ham sandwich sputtering out of his mouth. “I think you should forget about college. It’s all bullshit. Get a job. Get a
union
job. Good pay
and
benefits. Or a government job. Like working for the Post Office. Or you could work with me. I’ll put your name on the truck and everything.”
    Frank was grinding his molars. The sound of a million fingernails on a gigantic blackboard would have sounded sweeter than this. A few years ago, his father had hired a sign painter to put the particulars of his business on the doors of his truck and told the guy to leave a space for “& Son” after his name. Frank cringed whenever he saw that space.
    His father bunched his fingers and shook his hand at Frank. “Frankie, don’t be a
stunade!
Forget about college!”
    â€œYou studied music,” Frank said.
    â€œThat’s got nothing to do with nothing. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t waste your time!”
    Frank looked at his mother who looked away as soon as they made eye contact. He knew she wanted him to go to college, but so far she’d avoided a pitched battle with her husband over it.
    Just get in someplace good, she kept telling him in private. We’ll figure out the rest later. Your father will come around.
    This wasn’t exactly reassuring for Frank, but he had no choice but to trust her.
    He watched his sister eating her manicotti. He hoped to God she didn’t have to go through this crap when it came time for her to apply to colleges.
    â€œSo you thinking about the prom?” his mother asked, changing the subject and looking pathetically hopeful.
    Frank cringed. This was another topic he hated. He shrugged, determined to be noncommittal. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t give him the third degree again.
    â€œYou thinking about asking somebody?” she said. “Anybody in particular?”
    Frank’s relationships with girls—or lack of relationships—was something he did not want to discuss with his parents. Ever. But what really galled him was his mother’s contradictory attitude about him and girls. On the one hand she wanted him to be a priest, which meant taking a vow of celibacy. But on the other hand, she wanted him to take a girl to the prom, probably because she was afraid he was queer. Of course, his father came right out and asked him during the Superbowl last winter, asked him if he liked girls or if he “went the other way.”
    â€œThey’re not selling prom tickets yet,” Frank said to his mother. Just leave it open-ended, he figured. Let her think that he was probably going to go even though it wasn’t likely now that