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The following column appeared in The New York Daily News. Ms. O’Shaughnessy’s reminiscences about the Sisters of Charity during her early years reminded me of the sisters that I had in Catholic high school.
In one part of the column, Ms. O’Shaughnessy chides her daughter on her awful penmanship. I hate to say it, but young people tend to scrawl like chickens. Penmanship has gone out the window like almost everything else. When I entered high school, however, I had to learn how to write with a legible hand.
My biology teacher, Sr. Anne Francis, was a spry nun with piercing blue eyes. She was a tough, no-nonsense grader with a kind heart. When I received my first “F” for a lab report, I was extremely shocked. I had always been diligent with my homework. I could understand why Sister would “flunk” an “A” paper. I went to Sister and asked the question. She pointed to the handwriting and said, “Young man, if you don’t shape up your handwriting then I will fail every single paper that you hand in.” After that, I had no choice. I learned cursive by imitating the handwriting of the girls in my classes.
Sister Amelia Marie was the bane of my existence in high school. She was my homeroom teacher and taught me theology. Back in those days, I was Orthodox and felt that my theological training was okay. (I had been a regular at Sunday School.) Sister Amelia caught me on my BS. She tried to rein me in, but she couldn’t.
Since I was mercilessly bullied in high school, I always ate by myself. Sister thought that it was anti-social behavior. It was a survival tactic that was absolutely necessary for me at that time. Yet one day, Sister Amelia called me out and gave me a tongue lashing that I would never forget. She told me without mincing words whatsoever that I was a trouble-maker and that I needed to learn to socialize. She told me that the entire convent had heard about my exploits. Of course, I apologized and said that I would sit with the guys. I did.
Of course, Sister Amelia was not all work and no play. On St. Patrick’s Day, she would make the high schoolers Irish cream coffee. Sometimes, she would joke around with us. But there was always that tough exterior and hence the name that I called her behind her back: “Old Battleax.”
Of course, there were others sisters in my high school whom I deeply admired for their faith and love of God. Some worked as domestics in the convent laundries and others managed the printing presses. No matter what they did, their example impacted me.
To this very day, I am always thankful that the sisters were there for me in high schools. More than once, I can say that they helped to save my life through their prayers and counsel.
Thank you, sisters, for doing so much for me.
Our Lady of the Angels, pray for us!