Guided by Spirit Not Driven by Ego - Part 2

I attended first grade at St. Mary’s school.  The four of us along with some of the neighbor kids walked about six blocks to school every morning.  It was a close community led by a much loved priest named Father Wilkeny.  The classes were taught by nuns and were large,  30-35 kids.  But the nuns were strict and kept everyone in check.  There was a paddle that hung in the principal’s office as a warning to any child who decided they might want to thwart the nuns’ disciplinary measures.   The nuns were a huge mystery to me as a young child.  They seemed otherworldly as they moved around in their long habits with their hands tucked under their scapulars.  Their rosary beads had a very distinct sound as they moved.  So many questions we had about these mysterious creatures.  Were they bald under their veils? Did they ever go to the bathroom? Did they sleep in their habits? Did they do anything besides teach and pray? Did they need to eat? Did they have mothers?

In 2nd grade at my request my Mom sewed for me a nun’s habit.  I was convinced I wanted to join a convent and be a nun.  With my new habit on I would teach my imaginary class and make them follow me around the yard in a straight line, hushing them along the way.   I would make them stop and pray and scold them when they were being too noisy, wagging my finger at them and talking in a stern and threatening voice.  I had a rosary looped around my belt and tucked my arms under my scapular as I walked.  I was practicing for the real deal and was convinced I would be the best nun anyone had ever seen.   Luckily this dream of mine was short lived.

In Third Grade I had Sister Myra Joseph.  

Every day, her arms crossed over her chest and the rosary beads rattling, Sister Myra Joseph would sidle up to my desk with her usual scowl.  Remaining silent she would stand over me as I opened my lunch box taking out my fruit, my sandwich and sometimes on a good day, spaghettios.  I sat red faced as I struggled one day to remove a hot dog that my Mom had somehow stuffed into a small mouthed thermos.  I felt Sister’s presence to my very core and for the entire year of third grade I could never enjoy my lunch without feeling what I thought was her disapproval.   I discovered many years later that the reason she used to watch me eat lunch was because I had such interesting lunches and she always wanted to see what my Mom had packed that day.  

I had a love-hate relationship with Sister Myra Joseph.  She was very young and very attractive.  And she was very scary.  She had a way of looking at anyone who was not behaving that would make them shrink inside of themselves, her eyes stern and her lips pursed.  But for some reason she loved me.  I was the teacher’s pet and I knew it.  But still she scared me.  I was painfully shy in those days and she would very often make us do assignments which would require us to be up in front of the class.  One week we had to memorize a poem and recite it in front of the class.  The next week we had to make up a commercial and perform it.  I dreaded these assignments and she seemed to know that.  I seriously thought she took pleasure in my discomfort as I stood up in front of the class feeling the sweat drip down my back and my hands shaking. But as the year went on I got more and more comfortable with these assignments and toward the end of 3rd grade I actually won first place in a public speaking contest that I participated in with my 4-H club.   I hated to admit that it was Sister Myra Joseph who was the impetus for my public speaking career.

Sister Myra Joseph was a multiplication nazi.  Every morning would start with a quick multiplication quiz.  She would call out equations giving us only enough time to write the answer, no more.  If I didn’t know the answer immediately I would miss it.  2x2, 5x6, 7x3, 8x9, 4x5, one right after the other, no time to think.  I practiced and practiced with my Mom until I didn’t even have to hesitate.  And that knowledge served me well all through my life. 

I stayed in touch with Sister Myra Joseph for years.  In fact up until I turned 60 we still exchanged Christmas cards.  Then one year I didn’t hear from her and I suspect she had died. She was, by far one of the most influential teachers in my life.  

In 5th grade I had Sister Teresa Marie.  She was old and senile and endlessly talked about how the communists were coming to get us.  Those are the only memories I have of her.  

******************

When I first started looking for schools for you boys, I swore I would never send you to a Catholic School.  I felt that the nuns had stifled me, scared me.  I felt that my school environment had been an unhealthy one.  So after checking out the, at the time, lower than average public schools, I started looking at the private schools.  I went from one to the other and as you can imagine, here in Marin, they were . . . . well . . . they were different.  Discipline was lacking, they were too expensive, too new agey . . . 

One day I was driving around San Anselmo and I saw St. Anselm School was having an open house.  I don’t know why I went in there.  But I did.  There were two women who I met who changed my feelings about Catholic Schools – Mrs. Young and Mrs. Langley.  They were so excited about their school and it felt like family from the minute I walked in the door.  I decided that day St. Anselm was the school for us.   I was a little confused about my choice and why it felt good.  I think after seeing all of the other private schools, the familiarity of the Catholic School felt safe.  I also knew I wanted you to grow up with some kind of religious or spiritual practice and quite frankly Catholicism was the only one I knew and the only way I knew to do this.  I wish I could have thought of a different way to bring spirituality into your life but I couldn’t.  My thought was that I would start you out as Catholic then as you grew older you could do what I did, and that is to make up your own mind about what you believed and what you didn’t but at least you would have somewhere to start.   Plus, St. Anselm didn’t have those scary nuns!

Over the next 10 years as I became involved with St. Anselm my belief in the Catholic theology came back.  I felt a very strong sense of Jesus and who he was and how he fit into my life.  I understood the Holy Spirit for the first time in my life.  I got very involved in the church, attended discussion sessions with other parishioners and felt my religious history come back to me.  It felt good, it felt right but mostly it felt familiar.