I went to Catholic School in the 1960's. Those years are a huge part of who I am. My first friendships were formed there, many of which have been renewed and recharged through facebook. We learned reading, 'riting and 'rithmetic and, of course, religion. But there was more. We had music and art. We put on plays and had talent shows. Occasionally, we had gym. And we learned Latin.
A quiz on facebook recently asked "How many Catholic words do you actually know?" A multiple-choice test of Latin phrases. All of my school buddies who took it--including one Episcopalian--got 100 percent. Most of the answers would have been easy to guess, but back in the day, we knew them all by rote.
Et cum spirit tuo--And with your spirit.
Ave Maria--Hail Mary.
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus--Holy, holy, holy.
True, most of them were words to songs, but the Sisters made sure we knew what we were singing.
We went to Mass every morning before school. The kids who rode buses had to walk a couple of blocks from the junior high to the church. If we were going to receive Communion, we brought toast in our lunch boxes, which we were later allowed to eat in class. (There was a three-hour waiting period between eating and receiving the Eucharist then. It was eventually shortened to one hour.) To this day, eating cold buttered toast reminds me of my school days.
The girls had to have their heads covered in church, so if we hadn't brought a hat, or one of those little doilies called a "chapel veil," we would fold a piece of tissue into a band and fasten it to our head with bobby pins.
We played outside at recess and lunchtime. The playground had all of the necessary equipment, some of which I understand is no longer allowed at schools--too dangerous. Of course there were occasional accidents--we were kids. But I don't think anyone thought of taking away our fun. Someone would bump the teeter-totter too hard and send a playmate flying. Someone would absentmindedly wander in front of a swing and get knocked off their feet. Once, I saw a boy being led into the school with blood pouring from his face. He'd been swinging on his stomach, leaned a little too far forward and dragged his face through the gravel--an image I still can't "unsee."
There was an American Flag flying from a tall pole in front of the school. Sometimes the entire school would go to the church to attend a Funeral Mass for a parishioner. We lined up outside the school, and then filed in by class. On one such day, while waiting outside, I began making conversation with some friends. Sister roughly yanked me from the line and told me to stand beside the flagpole until she came back to get me. This was punishment? I was going to stand outside and miss part of Mass? Ha.
I stood under that flag for an hour.
Sister was a little "scattered." I figured she had forgotten me, but I didn't want to risk getting into more trouble by trudging into Mass late and alone. I was rewarded for my stalwartness when Sister, upon coming out of the church and seeing me, fell all over herself apologizing. She was so sorry for forgetting me that I felt bad for her.
I have always loved school. If I could go back now, I would. Those eight years I spent as a "Catholic School Kid" are in my soul. They are what I remember when I think about my childhood and say "I was happy." My sisters and brothers were there, too. It was part of our family. I wish every child could have what I had.
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