But at the beginning of this essay I had mentioned fear. I couldn't admit to God or man that through the power of Faith, I'm a good guy.

When I was in college I was popular. I captained a team; we achieved second in the nation, we competed internationally, I was invited to try-out for the US Crew Team...really good stuff. I had friends, girls who swarmed me like bees to honey, and an ego that couldn't easily be contained on Earth. And I knew a guy, who was my polar opposite.

He was pathologically shy, covered with acne, fat, really strange looking, ate like a hog at the trough and didn't have a friend in the world. He and I were freshmen living on the same floor of the freshmen dorm. He and I, by mis

We know when we were sleeping,

We know when we're awake.

WE KNOW WHEN WE'VE BEEN BAD...

So be good for goodness sake.

I left out the "...or good" part of the lyric, because I forgot it. Just like I forget it when I work on my own inventory; I'll bet many of us leave that part out, too. There are many times in our lives when we've selflessly done good things. Just recalling those instances feels like bragging. But, that feeling is incorrect, as wrong as if we omitted the times when we've been creeps.

Just last week I was thinking about going to Confession (if you haven't figured out by now that I'm a Catholic then it's time for new glasses) but for some reason, I was afraid to go.

How stupid! I believe that God not only knows my name, but could tell you as accurately as Santa Claus, every single one of my slightest transgressions, even those I don't act upon. It's not as if there's anything to hide. So what was it that frightened me so much that I couldn't bring myself to go?

It wasn't the priest. Unlike the days of my childhood, when the Monsignor would chase me from the confessional, howling my name to STOP IMMEDIATELY, so that he might give me a pop with the shillelagh for stealing cherries from the market; today priests emphasize that they themselves are sinners as much as anyone else. Nice change, that. I like my confessor. He's a good guy and a fearless spiritual guide who I love and trust.

I was really at loggerheads with myself over this fear. So I called the Parrish office and spoke with my priest and told him I was afraid to come into Confession, whereupon he scheduled me for an appointment 15 minutes from the time of that conversation.

If you are like me, you too lost the ability to commit most of the heavyweight mortal sins when you were diagnosed with arachnoiditis. I think my priest usually caught a few ZZzz's at many of my previous monthly confessions because I'd become so dull. Before I became disabled, I was good for a whopper or two every month. Now...like I said, I'm pretty dull.

Well, that's what I thought going in anyhow.

Now look at the lyric, and add back in the words, "...or GOOD, so be good for goodness sake." Ask this, good for who's sake? Answer: God's sake.

I do little good deeds. I correct the cashier at McDonald's and always give back the right change. I hold door open in elevators if I notice someone running to get aboard. Little habits. Good deeds that haven't yet eliminated weapons of mass destruction from the face of the earth. The priest and I talked about that little things, then we talked about big good deeds.

We talked about how much harder it's become to do a little good deed since I've become hurt. He suggested that prayer, thanking God that these opportunities haven't been removed from my life because of my disability is called for I do now: Thank you , God; for Your glory I do these things.

But at the beginning of this essay I had mentioned fear. I couldn't admit to God or man that through the power of Faith, I'm a good guy.

When I was in college I was popular. I captained a team; we achieved second in the nation, we competed internationally, I was invited to try-out for the US Crew Team...really good stuff. I had friends, girls who swarmed me like bees to honey, and an ego that couldn't easily be contained on Earth. And I knew a guy, who was my polar opposite.

He was pathologically shy, covered with acne, fat, really strange looking, ate like a hog at the trough and didn't have a friend in the world. He and I were freshmen living on the same floor of the freshmen dorm. He and I, by mist

How stupid! I believe that God not only knows my name, but could tell you as accurately as Santa Claus, every single one of my slightest transgressions, even those I don't act upon. It's not as if there's anything to hide. So what was it that frightened me so much that I couldn't bring myself to go?

It wasn't the priest. Unlike the days of my childhood, when the Monsignor would chase me from the confessional, howling my name to STOP IMMEDIATELY, so that he might give me a pop with the shillelagh for stealing cherries from the market; today priests emphasize that they themselves are sinners as much as anyone else. Nice change, that. I like my confessor. He's a good guy and a fearless spiritual guide who I love and trust.

I was really at loggerheads with myself over this fear. So I called the Parrish office and spoke with my priest and told him I was afraid to come into Confession, whereupon he scheduled me for an appointment 15 minutes from the time of that conversation.

If you are like me, you too lost the ability to commit most of the heavyweight mortal sins when you were diagnosed with arachnoiditis. I think my priest usually caught a few ZZzz's at many of my previous monthly confessions because I'd become so dull. Before I became disabled, I was good for a whopper or two every month. Now...like I said, I'm pretty dull.

Well, that's what I thought going in anyhow.

Now look at the lyric, and add back in the words, "...or GOOD, so be good for goodness sake." Ask this, good for who's sake? Answer: God's sake.

I do little good deeds. I correct the cashier at McDonald's and always give back the right change. I hold door open in elevators if I notice someone running to get aboard. Little habits. Good deeds that haven't yet eliminated weapons of mass destruction from the face of the earth. The priest and I talked about that little things, then we talked about big good deeds.

We talked about how much harder it's become to do a little good deed since I've become hurt. He suggested that prayer, thanking God that these opportunities haven't been removed from my life because of my disability is called for I do now: Thank you , God; for Your glory I do these things.

But at the beginning of this essay I had mentioned fear. I couldn't admit to God or man that through the power of Faith, I'm a good guy.

When I was in college I was popular. I captained a team; we achieved second in the nation, we competed internationally, I was invited to try-out for the US Crew Team...really good stuff. I had friends, girls who swarmed me like bees to honey, and an ego that couldn't easily be contained on Earth. And I knew a guy, who was my polar opposite.

He was pathologically shy, covered with acne, fat, really strange looking, ate like a hog at the trough and didn't have a friend in the world. He and I were freshmen living on the same floor of the freshmen dorm. He and I, by mis

I was really at loggerheads with myself over this fear. So I called the Parrish office and spoke with my priest and told him I was afraid to come into Confession, whereupon he scheduled me for an appointment 15 minutes from the time of that conversation.

If you are like me, you too lost the ability to commit most of the heavyweight mortal sins when you were diagnosed with arachnoiditis. I think my priest usually caught a few ZZzz's at many of my previous monthly confessions because I'd become so dull. Before I became disabled, I was good for a whopper or two every month. Now...like I said, I'm pretty dull.

Well, that's what I thought going in anyhow.

Now look at the lyric, and add back in the words, "...or GOOD, so be good for goodness sake." Ask this, good for who's sake? Answer: God's sake.

I do little good deeds. I correct the cashier at McDonald's and always give back the right change. I hold door open in elevators if I notice someone running to get aboard. Little habits. Good deeds that haven't yet eliminated weapons of mass destruction from the face of the earth. The priest and I talked about that little things, then we talked about big good deeds.

We talked about how much harder it's become to do a little good deed since I've become hurt. He suggested that prayer, thanking God that these opportunities haven't been removed from my life because of my disability is called for I do now: Thank you , God; for Your glory I do these things.

But at the beginning of this essay I had mentioned fear. I couldn't admit to God or man that through the power of Faith, I'm a good guy.

When I was in college I was popular. I captained a team; we achieved second in the nation, we competed internationally, I was invited to try-out for the US Crew Team...really good stuff. I had friends, girls who swarmed me like bees to honey, and an ego that couldn't easily be contained on Earth. And I knew a guy, who was my polar opposite.

He was pathologically shy, covered with acne, fat, really strange looking, ate like a hog at the trough and didn't have a friend in the world. He and I were freshmen living on the same floor of the freshmen dorm. He and I, by mis

I do little good deeds. I correct the cashier at McDonald's and always give back the right change. I hold door open in elevators if I notice someone running to get aboard. Little habits. Good deeds that haven't yet eliminated weapons of mass destruction from the face of the earth. The priest and I talked about that little things, then we talked about big good deeds.

We talked about how much harder it's become to do a little good deed since I've become hurt. He suggested that prayer, thanking God that these opportunities haven't been removed from my life because of my disability is called for I do now: Thank you , God; for Your glory I do these things.

But at the beginning of this essay I had mentioned fear. I couldn't admit to God or man that through the power of Faith, I'm a good guy.

When I was in college I was popular. I captained a team; we achieved second in the nation, we competed internationally, I was invited to try-out for the US Crew Team...really good stuff. I had friends, girls who swarmed me like bees to honey, and an ego that couldn't easily be contained on Earth. And I knew a guy, who was my polar opposite.

He was pathologically shy, covered with acne, fat, really strange looking, ate like a hog at the trough and didn't have a friend in the world. He and I were freshmen living on the same floor of the freshmen dorm. He and I, by mis

But at the beginning of this essay I had mentioned fear. I couldn't admit to God or man that through the power of Faith, I'm a good guy.

When I was in college I was popular. I captained a team; we achieved second in the nation, we competed internationally, I was invited to try-out for the US Crew Team...really good stuff. I had friends, girls who swarmed me like bees to honey, and an ego that couldn't easily be contained on Earth. And I knew a guy, who was my polar opposite.

He was pathologically shy, covered with acne, fat, really strange looking, ate like a hog at the trough and didn't have a friend in the world. He and I were freshmen living on the same floor of the freshmen dorm. He and I, by mistake, watched ballgames in the TV lounge sharing a true love for baseball.

One day he bumped into me in the hall and invited me to go with him to the stadium to see a rookie phenom. Very reluctantly I said yes, hoped no one saw me with him and went to the game.

He was awkward, so was I. We'd both sat silently for a couple of innings, then tried conversation, each of us speaking at the same time. But as time passed we became more comfortable with one another, and by the fifth, were calling pitches: 12/6 curve, slider down and away, he's owned this bum all night he's going back up the ladder, etc. By the end of the night, we were easy enough talking about the game.

We went again. Together we saw maybe 20 games that year, and became friends. Nonetheless, he was still a very awkward guy to the extent that if I saw him on campus and said "Hi", he'd ignore me, as he was ignored by the entire student body.

My friends made fun of me. Why would I hang-out with this loser in the TV lounge; why would we go to games together? What if someone saw me with him?

Our sophomore year began as the first had ended, but with a small change: he had 2 new friends, then a short while later 4, then a small cliche. I gradually stopped going to games with them, although he and I became better friends.

By our Senior year, his genius had been recognized and he was off to MIT on some special program. He was still a slob, a goof, a misfit, but no longer a complete social basket case.

This strange friendship ends here. I've not seen or heard from him since. I'm sure he went on to do some important things in a lab; sure as hell he couldn't mix with people. I miss him.

Our spending time together may have been one of the more important things I've done in my life: I was just a good guy to another person who needed a friend. He didn't need me as much as I needed him.

These small acts reveal themselves now as much larger than they seemed at the time. Hence my fear: sometimes I'm just a plain old good guy. I can say it now. He wanted me to do that... and I did it.