Don’t Chew Jesus!

Sister Clement faced the class, her brow crinkled and lips pursed. Absentmindedly, the tiny nun fingered the rosary beads hanging from her waist. Devout Catholic Boy wiggled in his seat while Devout Catholic Girl sat as still as holy water. Sister had been preparing the children to receive their First Holy Communion.

“Whaddya think is up with her,” Devout Catholic Boy whispered as he fidgeted with a pencil on his desk.

“Shoosh,” said Devout Catholic Girl, never taking her eyes off the nun pacing back and forth in front of them. 

“Children, heed these words,” Sr. Clement said. “The communion host contains the true body and blood of Jesus Christ. You must treat Him with honor and respect.”

“Don’t chew Jesus!”

“Just suck on Him.”

“Whazzat? Did she say what I thought she said

Socks-Off Sock Hop The Carmelite nuns at my high school wouldn’t allow us to take off our socks at the sock hops because “you could never tell what might come off next.” We really couldn’t dance very well because we slid all over the gym floor.

?” Devout Catholic Boy asked as nervous titters swept the classroom. Devout Catholic Girl closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross.

 “Never let your teeth touch Jesus’ body,” Sister Clement continued. She finished her Catechism lesson with a smacking, tongue-thrusting demonstration. Placing an unblessed wafer on her tongue, Sr. Clement told the children:

“Puth Thethuth to the woof of yor mouf and thlet Him thitholve”

Devout Catholic Boy and Girl learned an important lesson that morning. Nuns would take whatever measures necessary to make certain their students grew into morally responsible adults. The children realized embarrassment, lack of facts, unruly students, or worldly influences would not stand in a nun’s way. Sisters were women on a mission.

Letters To God

Good penmanship was very important to nuns. You could have kidnapped the Lindberg baby and that would been okay as long as the ransom note was written neatly, flush with the left-hand margin and with all the upper and lower loops properly and proportionately placed. Life was difficult for fellow left-handers and me.

One day, the whole class had to write letters to God that only He would read. The plan was that Sr. Joseph would burn the letters and the smoke would carry them up to God in Heaven so he could read them. Unfortunately for me, the official censor – Sr. Joseph – read the letters ahead of time. She decided my handwriting was so messy that even God could not read it.

Sister made me spend my whole lunch period rewriting my letter and still the rewrite was not acceptable. God never to read my letter because sister refused to burn it.

Trading Cards

Sometimes a nun’s foresight might not have been appreciated for years to come, like the time a young boy was caught trading baseball cards in church during the ’50s. The boy and his buddies figured out that by trimming the cards just so, they could slip them under a holy card. The boys passed the cards up and down the row, trading a St. Jude for a St. Anthony and a Sacred Heart of Jesus card for the both of them. They were convinced Sister was none the wiser. That was, until Sister whispered in the boy’s ear, “You really shouldn’t trim those cards. They may be valuable one day.”

Truer words were never spoken. Among the boy’s stash lay a Mickey Mantle rookie card worth nothing more than interest in 1952. Fifty years later, the card would have fetched as much as $50,000—had it been untrimmed. 

 Bonfire Madness

Bill, a CPA, had been spending his weekdays auditing the books of one of his favorite clients, the local order of nuns. He was assisted by Sr. Gloria, a sweet elderly nun who served as the order’s bookkeeper.

He had been reviewing various receipts from a few years earlier related to the sale of their convent and school when he discovered a tax-deduction letter referring to an antique chair valued at $1,000. He pointed that item out to Sr. Gloria and to Mother Superior Berthold, who had popped in to see how the audit was moving along.

“Oh, my heavens,” said a dazed mother superior. “We had dozens of those chairs throughout the convent! What happed to them, Sr. Gloria?”

Sister Gloria, squirming in her chair, hemmed and hawed but finally answered.

“Do you remember how excited we were when we finally sold the convent,” Sister asked. “And we built a blazing bonfire to celebrate?”

“A few of us sisters were caught up in keeping the flames stoked so we tossed anything the fire we could find. Someone remembered the old chairs and, well…”

Silence filled the room.

“We’ll just keep that bit of information among ourselves,”

Enough For a Band, Or Two Sister Eleanor’s kindergarten classroom was right across the hall from me. She taught ninety-nine students! Sister was absolutely amazing. She even had them perform in a rhythm band at the end of the year. They were quite good. The funny thing was, she was an only child! Having to manage so many little ones was such a challenge but she never complained.

Mother Superior said.

Spring Forward

While Sister was out of the room, two of us pulled down the shades and another turned down the lights. We then set her classroom clock forward two hours. Sister glanced at the clock when she entered the room and, startled by the time, told us to leave.

 “Oh my, students your parents will be worried sick about you! Run, run, go home. Class dismissed.”

We were slapped with a week’s detention.

St. Blaise and Clear Throats

Lost Time Sister Elizabeth told us, “Use your minutes, don’t waste time. Spend five minutes to mend a sock, pick up something off the floor, clean the drawers.”  I’ve always remembered that and try to keep busy.

I taught at a Catholic school in New Orleans for three years and since I wasn’t Catholic, it was a learning experience. I happily embraced all the saint days but I received a memo about one that surely was a misprint. A special Mass was being held the following Friday for the “blessing of the throats.” I had been at the school for some time and had seen many saint days, and even learned about May Crownings, but this one threw me!

I thought surely the memo was wrong so I asked the high-school principal, Sr. Jerome, about its accuracy. She explained it was the Feast of St. Blaise, which called for a very nice ritual to ward off colds and sore throats. It was February
and the height of winter season, and since I was the one who had twenty-five sneezers facing me every morning, I asked if I could be blessed. Sister gave me an enthusiastic yes.

So there I was, with all my first graders, kneeling at the altar with the candles crossing my throat. Amazingly, there were no colds for me that winter!