Richard Kind

Before I begin, there is a character on a computer.

His moniker or his screen name is Jim Hero, and that's spelled G-Y-M, not J-I-M.

And when you read it, you can see, but when you're hearing it, it might cause a question.

Years ago, in a time before Toby Beckham, assistant pastor at St.

John's Episcopal,

had surrendered his life to Jesus Christ before he took up his cross and chose a life of penance and prayer, he was quite the skank hoe who could not get enough of the attention of women.

Man bacon Beckham, his fraternity brothers would call him.

and he would finesse pomade through his powerful curly hair before they would strut to the college rec to lift weights and admire their gains.

Weekends consisted of socials with sorority sisters, a saunter through campus meant stopping frequently to chat with friends passing by.

And generally speaking, life was really vigorous and amazing.

Toby scratches his thinning hair and thinks about the unencumbered life he once enjoyed.

And while he can't definitively say he wishes he could go back, he admits that he recalls these days wistfully.

At 38 years old, he feels his body beginning to grind down.

He is aware of the extra beat it takes to rise from bed, that he needs more rest after a workout,

and how he sometimes forgoes prayer before breakfast.

Anyway, he is reminded of this because his penitent, 74-year-old Mabel Rogerson, his first grade teacher, has occupied the confession booth for the last 20 minutes and is confessing the heck out of her transgressions from when she was in college.

Toby cannot recall the last time he saw Mabel at church, and though he would never try to rush her out of the confession booth, he wonders why she chose today of all days to spill these secrets.

His attention is drifting, and his patience is wearing thin.

And then, after Herbert, came Clyde, Mabel continues.

Now, Clyde was a real gentleman, and his butt was like a cement truck.