A. Michael is utterly, totally, completely, and irredeemably in love with all members of the animal kingdom . . . except humans. His awe for the perfectly evolved body of a slug is matched only by his disdain for a human with a backache. Even a slug knows better than to lift more than his musculature safely allows.
A. Michael was never popular in school. When he couldn’t intellectualize away his yearning for friendship with other humans, i.e., playmates, he turned to other animals for his emotional needs. Because his parents indulged him, he was able to keep a fantastic menagerie in his own room. He built elaborate homes for his various species, often inventing innovative little ecosystems so he could share his space with exotics.
To his delight, A. Michael discovers that teachers leave him alone and let him read in a corner as they teach the basics of phonics. He finishes his work so quickly that he “earns” the right to go off by himself. He does not have to interact with the other kids or the teacher. He is rewarded for excelling and thus encouraged to remain isolated. A. Michael always chooses to be alone when given the opportunity. He always chooses reading about science and non-fiction. He has no interest in storybooks, dramas, mysteries. He wants facts. He hates biographies, and when his third grade book report on Pasteur dwells more on the process of scientific discovery than the man, his teacher gives him an A+ and doesn’t make note of the oddity.
A. Michael participates in all the religious schooling and rituals in much the same way as he does English assignments. He does them without emotional involvement. He is an altar boy because it is expected and because doing it pleases his parents. When his parents are pleased, A. Michael is allowed to continue being alone. In catechism class, he does not question the teaching; he sees them as assignments in memorization.
(continued)
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