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My Best Stories

Confessional: Sist…Sist…Sister, Pick Me!

  “Sist…Sist…Sist…” That’s the call of the devoted Catholic school student, begging to answer a question to impress Sister!  It was like a chorus of banchies trying to show off the knowledge gleaned through sweaty brows of the previous night’s study session!  It really didn’t matter what the answer was, but was more about the sounds that were made.  And it seemed Sister was oblivious to their and my pleading, almost agonizing calls for attention.  After all, how DO you fairly call on about 61 eager students competing by waving arms and hands while stretching impossibly...

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Confessions of a Catholic School Girl: The Art of Skirt Rolling

One of the good things about going to an all girls’ Catholic school was uniforms.  You didn’t have to worry about the latest fads in Glamour magazine or what the girls would say if you wore non-designer clothes.  Trust me, none of our clothes were designer in nature! When I first started high school, our uniforms were drab blue, drab blue skirts, drab blue, fitted vests, and not great on me, I might add, when I had a barrel shape and no apparent bust line to fill the tailored stitching which built a space for boobs! Well, in addition to all the drab blue, the emblem of St. Mary’s High School...

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Boys Want Just One Thing

I always thought that I would become a Nun.  It was my calling, my passion, or so we were all told by Sister after Sister, Priest after Priest, Mother Superior, and even the Archbishop when he addressed us in church.  What I thought was passion in my belly might have well been tailored propaganda and indigestion.  And for the most part, it was working!  …With the exception of the “sinner”, Cynthia, who promptly proclaimed she was pregnant sometime in our sophomore year, and who had mysteriously disappeared from our class.   I was not a wall-flower by any means. I do know girls...

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May God Strike You with Lightening

    Looking back on this harrowing third grade experience, I smile as I tell this story. But I assure you, it was no laughing matter at the time! I was a helper,  shy, but always trying to please Sister.  In third grade, I could tell, Sister and I hit it off! I didn’t live far from St. Mary’s Grammar School, just up over the hill and down a long city block, so Mom frequently allowed me to stay after school to help straighten out our third grade classroom.  After all, there were chalk boards to be erased and washed, and erasers to be clapped, outside of course.   I...

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Class, Separate but Unequal

 Math Class, Separate but Unequal                                                                 Or                                        … If Two Trains Are Traveling at the Same Speeds?   By eighth grade, at St. Mary’s Grammar School, I thought I was king of the heap!  I had now graduated to the top floor of our dilapidated three story building, but we were, from an early age, programmed to believe that eighth grade WAS the most revered grade of all. Hence, our trek up three...

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The Spanking Machine

The Spanking Machine I was four years old, when the Spanking Machine was first introduced to me. …in first grade, at St. Mary’s Catholic School in New England.   I am sure it was purely a precautionary tactic. My first grade teacher had such an infectious !  She called it her “insurance policy” and reassured all 50 of her first grade class --all girls—that only the boys in the OTHER first grade class would ever have a need to be subjected to the “Spanking Machine”!  Sister didn’t bring up the spanking machine again until after lunch on that first fateful day of school!   “There...

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