"Billy Boy" is a humorous story about an altar boy growing up in a small New England town and the many conflicts he encounters along the way. When the mysteries of faith, sex, and the world around him were rationalized with a young mind and an imagination that ran wild within his head. When trying to stay one step ahead of his parents, teachers, and the law, he often found himself two steps behind. Although this mostly true tale takes place during the rock and roll era, it could have happened during any time period. This is a must read if you like to laugh, especially at adolescence.

In response to the priest I said, “bless me Father for I have sinned, this is my first confession.” I continued without stopping, “I took the name of the Lord thy God in vain once, I forgot to say my prayers once, and I ah, well ah, I ah, I,” my voice trailing off, hesitant to say my last sin. The priest then said, “go ahead my child, say whatever sin you have committed, God will understand and forgive you.” I could feel the pressure building up inside me. If what I was about to say caused the Townsend Military Band to stopped playing, Janet to break out in pimples, the sky to get dark, and my mother to make me kneel before first place baby Jesus, what would happen if I said it again? In church? To a priest? I was sweating pickles. I was in trouble. My train of thought was broken by the priest saying, “go ahead my child, just relax and say whatever sin you have committed.” Relax, how I was I supposed to relax? I was a nervous wreck. “Well Father” I continued, “I ah, I um, I said the bad word, you know, the real bad word, the ‘f---’ word, twice.” I finally came out with it, I felt relieved and the pressure started to go down. Then the priest said, “which ‘f---’ word’?” What? The pressure shot right back up! Sky rocketed! Even higher than before. He had caught me totally off guard. Which “f---” word? The only other “f---” word I could think of was fart. Talk about being stumped. “Well Father” I said, “not the fart ‘f---’ word, but the other ‘f---’ word, you know the one, the real bad one. I don’t know what it means, but I said it at the 1946 Memorial Day parade. Then I said it again at school in front of Janet when I saw two dogs humping. “Oh” said the priest, “the real bad ‘f---’ word.” “Ya,” I said, that’s the one. You got it Father. The real bad one.” “Well my son” the priest said, “say a good ‘Act of Contrition,” recite three ‘Our Fathers’ for your penance, and never say that bad word again. Go in peace, your sins have been forgiven. Pray for me and I’ll pray for you.” I guess he had a point praying for each other, the both of us knowing all about the “f---” word and all. I walked out of the confessional sweating real heavy. I looked like I had taken a sauna rather than gone to confession. Everyone in my class looked at me when I came out after taking so long, a sure sign of a serious sinner.

William May was thrust into the world of the Catholic Church as an alter boy, and then was placed in an all boys Catholic school at the age thirteen. He is a skilled writer presently working on his second book. He lives with his wife Jeanne in southern New Hampshire.