I was rattled when I learned Sister J would be my teacher. Sister J lived up to my fearful expectations. When students misbehaved, Sister J finger wagged and slapped a ruler. Once, I'd been out sick (really sick) for almost a week, and I missed the lessons about memorizing the multiplication table. When I returned to class, Sister J called me up to the front of the room and demanded that I draw and recite the table. I didn't know what to do, so I stood silent. Sister J slammed my head against the blackboard.
Sister J assigned one interesting project for our social studies unit. She required each student to prepare a report about a foreign country. I chose Austria, and here is my report:
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Catholic-school alumni will recognize the "JMJ" at the top of most pages.
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(I cite my sources.)
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(I was using a blank line to separate paragraphs.)
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After I finished the fourth grade, I didn't see Sister J for another six years. She showed up at the funeral mass of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana. Sister J gave me a sympathy card and a nosegay of flowers.
2 comments:
Nuns were funny that way.
The one I remember was Sister Marietta, younger than most and very nice, who was in charge of my Religious Instruction (I went to private school) when I was about 8.
And, yes, some of us who didn't go to Catholic school know about JMJ.
And the Cross with the little dot at the base.
My overall experience with Catholic education was good. Sister J was an exception.
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