On the way home from my final guitar lesson my father started in once more, telling me how lucky I am. I was thinking that he should spend an hour playing “Up, Up, and Away” while locked in a windowless room with a midget before he came to me talking about luck. What does he know? During the depression, both of my parents had relatives who would crawl out of the woodwork to stay with my grandparents. They were just freeloaders but, in their own way, they made an impression. Picking me up after my last lesson my father told me a story about the longest freeloader, a guy who was studying to become a Greek Orthodox priest. He wasn’t a blood relative, but whisper the word priest to my grandmother and she’ll fall to her knees and cross herself with a speed that betrays her years. So the priest student moved in and slept on the bone-crushing foldout sofa with my father. This is chock full of possibilities as far as I’m concerned. A freeloader can be just as hot as anyone else. I asked my father what the priest student looked like and he said it wasn’t important.

One day, my dad said, he came home from school earlier than usual. Both his parents were at work and he came upon the priest lying upon my grandparent’s bed without any pants on. The student did not appear shocked or embarrassed. He told my father that he was just conducting a little experiment. Then he doubled over, held a lit match close to his ass, and farted so that the match flared out. He told my father to lie down beside him and give it a try but, knowing my dad, he didn’t. My father said that he couldn’t tell his parents, but he knew in that instant that this priest guy was a pogue, a queer. I don’t think that lighting farts with a match necessarily makes someone a queer but I went along with it and kept my mouth shut. The flame-thrower stayed on for another three months, during which time my father slept on the hard, cold floor. Hearing of some genuine blood relatives with more money and a spare bedroom, the priest moved on and they never heard from him again. My father told me all this while we were in the car. He usually doesn’t talk at all but he had this timed perfectly. He paused at the top of the driveway and turned to me asking, “Have you ever met anyone like that?”

And I said, “What, a priest?”