Woe is Me--my best color
Uncle Marcel said that my last post was great woe is me, but where's the fun. Mardyrdom is a favorite critisizm for people of me. Of course, I'm very big about it.
My theory is early influence of nuns--not just any nuns, dominican nuns. I didn't see nun's hair until fifth grade and it was revolutionary. Sister Margarite (not her real name--I could never pronounce her real name, much less spell it) was a great mardyr. Life in Africa as a missionary was better than our first grade class, and we just knew life in Africa must be miserable. She used to threaten to put us in a box and ship us there--powerful threat to a six year old.
And then there were the nuns I adored who had given up their entire life just to teach me geography. Sister Elaine changed her name half way through fourth grade because the church was going through a reform. Near the beginning of the year, when her name was something completely unpronoucable, she asked each of us to come up to the front of the room and tell her secretly what our middle names were (why this was a school activity is beyond me, but I digress). I couldn't remember my middle name--I knew it began with an e, so I said my middle name was Elaine and she said that she had a wonderful surprize for me. When she announced her new name later in the year, she winked at me. I didn't have the heart to tell her my middle name was not Elaine. She taught us that we should always walk around and behind others--not cut in front of someone walking or interceting with. You would not believe how difficult this is sometimes, especially at a mall where my office building is located, but I valiently try for Sister Elaine to this day.
Boy those nuns had moxi. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a nun. I think I would have made a good nun, except for that going to church all the time and obeying the pope. Oh well, there's always my next life.
My theory is early influence of nuns--not just any nuns, dominican nuns. I didn't see nun's hair until fifth grade and it was revolutionary. Sister Margarite (not her real name--I could never pronounce her real name, much less spell it) was a great mardyr. Life in Africa as a missionary was better than our first grade class, and we just knew life in Africa must be miserable. She used to threaten to put us in a box and ship us there--powerful threat to a six year old.
And then there were the nuns I adored who had given up their entire life just to teach me geography. Sister Elaine changed her name half way through fourth grade because the church was going through a reform. Near the beginning of the year, when her name was something completely unpronoucable, she asked each of us to come up to the front of the room and tell her secretly what our middle names were (why this was a school activity is beyond me, but I digress). I couldn't remember my middle name--I knew it began with an e, so I said my middle name was Elaine and she said that she had a wonderful surprize for me. When she announced her new name later in the year, she winked at me. I didn't have the heart to tell her my middle name was not Elaine. She taught us that we should always walk around and behind others--not cut in front of someone walking or interceting with. You would not believe how difficult this is sometimes, especially at a mall where my office building is located, but I valiently try for Sister Elaine to this day.
Boy those nuns had moxi. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a nun. I think I would have made a good nun, except for that going to church all the time and obeying the pope. Oh well, there's always my next life.
posted by KathrynVH @ 9:54 AM
1 Comments:
At June 13, 2007 at 4:49 PM,
Anonymous said…
My recollection of the Dominicans is that they were strict but mostly nice. I was drawn to those that smiled and repelled from those that always frowned. I do recall a Sr. William, a music teacher, when I was in fifth grade, had a wisp of hair protruding on her forehead, it was red. This was a sensation for the whole class - red hair - how can that be possible? That was the only time I saw "Sister hair."
Also remember being enamored of one Sister while in the seventh grade, she was very gentile and smiled a lot. It hurt me to find that her favorite pupil was not me but Ronald, another boy in the class. As in the Sienfield series: "that Ronald he's so smug." I did not dislike Ronald but whenever I looked at him I wondered, why him and not me.
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