Family schedules are getting crammed full of sports activities, teachers are cleaning rooms and preparing lessons, kids are shopping for new clothes, cooks are making final adjustments to breakfast and lunch menus, janitors are racing the clock to finish the final touches, school staff members are busy sending out last minute letters to parents, and administrators are making adjustments to schedules.
It’s back to school time.
As I worked on getting my new computer hooked up and operational in my classroom today I couldn’t help but think back to my early days in the classroom – not as a teacher – but as a student.
Do you remember those early years of your education?
I can clearly remember that my favorite activity in kindergarten was playing in the indoor sandbox. The sandbox was not on the floor, I could stand next to it and play. No need to get down and dirty with the sand working its way into places it did not belong. I liked the school sandbox.
It should come as no surprise to you that I spent the majority of my educational experiences in Catholic schools. I attended grade school at Holy Spirit Elementary School and put my time in high school at Shanley High School.
For those of you who are younger, you may not believe this, but the teacher was the ‘boss’ of the classroom back in my day. And believe me when I tell you that all 3 feet five inches of me, weighing in dripping wet at 50 pounds, was scared to death of the teachers – the nuns; all of them.
The teachers at Holy Spirit were members of the Sisters of Presenta-tion of the Virgin Mary. They were a formidable sight to behold. I swear all of them were 10 feet tall (remember, I wasn’t just short back then, I was really, really short). They were dressed in black. The habit (dress) appeared to be one piece the flowed all the way to the floor. A long, black veil was held in place by a starched, white headpiece, the coif. The most impressive piece of the habit was what I think they called the wimple, a large, white, starched, half circle cloth that covered the front of their upper body from shoulder to shoulder.
Every kid in school knew they meant business.
A large black leather belt wrapped around their waist and a long, leather strap draped to the floor. Entangled in the leather strap was a huge rosary.
No one wanted to find out what the nuns were capable of doing with that long leather strap.
For sure, the nuns were the ‘boss’. I remember one day, when the nun that taught 5th grade tied little Tommy to the seat of his desk because he was getting up and walking around the classroom too often. I also remember walking down the hall and seeing kids sitting on chairs in the hall with their mouths tapped shut with masking tape. Written, neatly of course, on the masking tape was “I talk too much”.
Don’t even think that any of us went home and complained to our parents about the discipline that the nuns chose to meter out. Back then moms and dads backed the teachers – the nuns – and if a kid complained, the sounds of the parent’s comment could be heard throughout the house, “Well, next time don’t do it!”
My memories aren’t all about correction. I can remember watching a couple of the nuns kicking up their heels dancing an Irish jig in the main hallway on Saint Patrick’s Day. I can remember getting a silver crucifix from Sister Colet for helping clean the chalk boards after school. I can remember laughing so hard I thought my side would split as one nun slid into third base and broke her wimple right down the middle.
The nuns were tough. They meant business. They knew how to make us feel safe. They knew how to present lessons so we understood. They were teachers. Good teachers.
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Family schedules are getting crammed full of sports activities, teachers are cleaning rooms and preparing lessons, kids are shopping for new clothes, cooks are making final adjustments to breakfast and lunch menus, janitors are racing the clock to finish the final touches, school staff members are busy sending out last minute letters to parents, and administrators are making adjustments to schedules.
It’s back to school time.
As I worked on getting my new computer hooked up and operational in my classroom today I couldn’t help but think back to my early days in the classroom – not as a teacher – but as a student.
Do you remember those early years of your education?
I can clearly remember that my favorite activity in kindergarten was playing in the indoor sandbox. The sandbox was not on the floor, I could stand next to it and play. No need to get down and dirty with the sand working its way into places it did not belong. I liked the school sandbox.
It should come as no surprise to you that I spent the majority of my educational experiences in Catholic schools. I attended grade school at Holy Spirit Elementary School and put my time in high school at Shanley High School.
For those of you who are younger, you may not believe this, but the teacher was the ‘boss’ of the classroom back in my day. And believe me when I tell you that all 3 feet five inches of me, weighing in dripping wet at 50 pounds, was scared to death of the teachers – the nuns; all of them.
The teachers at Holy Spirit were members of the Sisters of Presenta-tion of the Virgin Mary. They were a formidable sight to behold. I swear all of them were 10 feet tall (remember, I wasn’t just short back then, I was really, really short). They were dressed in black. The habit (dress) appeared to be one piece the flowed all the way to the floor. A long, black veil was held in place by a starched, white headpiece, the coif. The most impressive piece of the habit was what I think they called the wimple, a large, white, starched, half circle cloth that covered the front of their upper body from shoulder to shoulder.
Every kid in school knew they meant business.
A large black leather belt wrapped around their waist and a long, leather strap draped to the floor. Entangled in the leather strap was a huge rosary.
No one wanted to find out what the nuns were capable of doing with that long leather strap.
For sure, the nuns were the ‘boss’. I remember one day, when the nun that taught 5th grade tied little Tommy to the seat of his desk because he was getting up and walking around the classroom too often. I also remember walking down the hall and seeing kids sitting on chairs in the hall with their mouths tapped shut with masking tape. Written, neatly of course, on the masking tape was “I talk too much”.
Don’t even think that any of us went home and complained to our parents about the discipline that the nuns chose to meter out. Back then moms and dads backed the teachers – the nuns – and if a kid complained, the sounds of the parent’s comment could be heard throughout the house, “Well, next time don’t do it!”
My memories aren’t all about correction. I can remember watching a couple of the nuns kicking up their heels dancing an Irish jig in the main hallway on Saint Patrick’s Day. I can remember getting a silver crucifix from Sister Colet for helping clean the chalk boards after school. I can remember laughing so hard I thought my side would split as one nun slid into third base and broke her wimple right down the middle.
The nuns were tough. They meant business. They knew how to make us feel safe. They knew how to present lessons so we understood. They were teachers. Good teachers.
