Stubborn

My high school offered a group of seniors the chance to travel to Greece and Turkey during the spring break of our senior year. One nun, my AP English teacher, would serve as chaperone, and two other adults—her biological sister and her friend—would join the trip as well.

Few students showed interest in the trip. Perhaps it was too expensive. Perhaps it collided with other scheduled, senior-year activities. Perhaps the students didn't want to spend ten days under the watchful eye of that particular nun.

Only four girls signed up for the trip. I was one of them.

I fell ill about one week before our scheduled departure. I don't remember whether I had strep throat or pneumonia, but I was sick enough to stay in bed and to miss at least five days of school. I was determined, however, to recuperate quickly because I feared—rightly—that my Parents would prohibit me from traveling if I were still ill.

To show my Parents that I truly was on the mend, I spent several "sick days" working ahead on the homework that would be due just before my trip. I blitzed through a number of projects, and I convincingly demonstrated my good health.

Because it's customary in our culture to record an illness, my Dad snapped a photograph of me, typing away on a pre-departure paper:



Suburban Chicago, April 1976. Here's the photo that hangs above my bed.

I had a great time in Greece. The nun largely left the four of us on our own. We were surprised—and pleased—by the lack of supervision. As a result, we experienced all sorts of adventures that stirred up a lot of excitement for teenagers.

We had some fun, and we had some troubles. The nun must have been aware of our escapades. On our first day back to school, she stopped me outside of her classroom, and she admonished me not to reveal some of the more colorful aspects of the trip to my other classmates.