I think this was around the time I was in the sixth or seventh grade or something.  Anyhow, while we were sitting there in the classroom, the nun had me get up.  

I used to be an altar boy, and we had to speak our prayers in Latin.  She was going over the Latin prayers with me to see if I knew them all, pronounced the words properly, had them memorized and all that.

I knew I was doing it correct.  But she kept yelling at me and telling me I am saying it wrong.

So she had a belt, you know, with three knots in it.  She took that and started whipping me, telling me, "You were saying it wrong," and all that.

After the third or fourth time saying I am doing it right with no tears in my eyes -- I am too stubborn to cry anyhow.  I looked at her and said, "I am saying it right!"

She said, "You are saying it wrong!"  

So she started whipping me, and I lowered my shoulder and put it down and plowed right into her.  She was up by the blackboard.  You know those big, long blackboards we used to get up to write on.

That thing collapsed and fell right on top of her!

I said, "Oh, I am in trouble!"

I headed toward the back of the room and there was an open window there.  Everybody was busy with their work.  That window was next to a tree.

This was on the second floor up.  I jumped out that window and onto that tree limb and got down that tree and escaped.  They were busy talking care of that nun with that blackboard on top of her.

I escaped.  It was one of those times I ran away.