In the heart of downtown Topeka, across from the State Capitol, stands Assumption Catholic Church. It’s a Mission-and-Renaissance-Revival brick monolith from the 1920s that was built to survive tornadoes, scandals, and the weekly parade of restless kids shoved inside to worship a God they weren’t entirely sold on. Next to it sits Assumption Grade School, a mid-century, no-frills building where the hallways reek of industrial cleaner and the K-8 classrooms smell like pencil shavings and boredom. Outside, an asphalt playground waits like a killing field where kids bleed for kickball glory and learn the hard way that falling on blacktop means a trip to the ER for stitches, casts, or a new pair of teeth. Between the church, the school, and the homeless who drift in for free bologna sandwiches from the church’s rectory, the whole block feels like its own ecosystem: strange, isolated and self-policing. I had been part of this ecosystem my entire scholastic life. Raised by i...
I thought coming of age meant growing up. On Monroe Street, it meant giving something away before I knew it was mine.