Sister, Sister, 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 from their seats to reach Sister, perched on the edge of her desk.  The desk was displayed squarely on a two foot high wooden platform in the front of the class.

 

In any public school, this chaotic enthusiasm would have been rewarded by a teacher’s delirious joy at the prospect of students eager to share what had been learned the night before.  But not here though!  Catholic school children gone mad!  Boys and girls alike, stretching their seated bodies into twisted pretzels as if to greet some rock star, instead of the menacing presence in the front who rewarded such enthusiasm with a stoic look of distain, as if to say, “You had better know that answer!”

We had all come to the conclusion that we were probably chanting “Sist…Sist…Sist…” and waving wildly because it had come to symbolize a ritualistic show of, “I’ve studied, and I want you to acknowledge me!”  Those who “Sist-ed” the longest and loudest, it was assumed had studied the hardest -into the wee hours of the morning.

I was among them.  Since we were chastised for screaming, I perfected my cries into a wailing and blistering “Sist” almost a death cry!  Effective, I thought, but to no avail.

With 61 wailing kids, both boys and girls in our eight grade class, it was a highly inefficient way for Sister to conduct a lesson.

 “Sist… Sist…,” I exclaimed, a hard snake-like hiss enunciating the call.  “Please pick me!  I’m prepared.”

So, Sister instituted a set of name calling cards. This large stack of white paper-stock quality cards, sat neatly perched with one elastic band (a rubber band to non-New Englanders) straining to keep 61 name calling cards in an upright position. And there you have it.  …Tidy, efficient, white, business-like cards, shuffled regularly at the beginning of class each day.  In fact, it was the first thing Sister did after class began.

 

We were all used to the whirling sounds the shuffled cards made in the hands of a highly skilled shuffler.  Perfectly executed.  Sister could have played a mean game of Poker if she played cards, which we all supposed she did NOT.  But looking back on eight grade from where I sit today, she did have a Poker face that no one in the class would have disputed! 

You would think this to be the end of the story, but it’s only just the beginning.  You see, Sister never counted the number of cards in the pile nor did she ever notice the pile dwindling throughout that month of October.  But I can assure you I felt gipped that year.  I was too timid to play the game! …until the opportunity literally fell into my lap.

Here’s how it all happened:  One day in early October, Sister’s elastic band, old and fragile from years of wear, broke!!! Sister just left the name cards stacked high and straight at the edge of her desk as always.  Then it happened!  Just as the lunch bell sounded, Joey walked by Sister’s desk and “accidentally” knocked over the complete stack of name cards with his elbow.  They scattered everywhere like confetti.  Joey made a beeline to straighten up the cards, making sure each name was faced correctly.  The rest of us, and Sister, were anxiously waiting for our dismissal to lunch.  We ALL saw it, all but Sister that is. Between the height of the platform and the desk obstructing her view, only the students were privy to what happened next.  Joey, slyly and without missing a beat, slipped his own name card up his sleeve!  He placed the cards in a nice neat pile on Sister’s desk and lined up like the rest of us.  That might have been the first time I saw Sister crack a smile.  Joey was a quiet boy, long and awkward, a typical boy of 13 years old.
 

But Joey wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree and between his shyness and not studying as much as he needed to, Joey felt he would be safe from the “name calling” by Sister.  Little did Joey realize just how many of us actually saw his feat of “magic”.  Make the name card go away, and never have to study for the rest of the year!  Now, Sister would surely notice a card missing from the pile! 

Well, October passed uneventfully, and Sister never did call Joey’s name.  And she never even noticed that Joey wasn’t called on.  Well, Joey even got up the nerve to stammer, “Sist…Sist…Sister.”  And by the end of October, he knew he was home free.  It looked like he studied, for he pleaded to be called by Sister, but as “luck” (NOT!!!) would have it, Joey just smiled and relaxed in class.

 

Throughout the month of October, Sister failed to secure the name calling cards with a new elastic band.  Those students who had witnessed Joey make his name card magically disappear, one-by-one, skillfully extorted their names from the pile, ensuring a comfortable stint in Sister’s class for the entire eight grade year.

The girls in the class, bound by honor but mostly by fear of getting caught, didn’t try removing their names.

All but me that is, and only by accident—or the grace or disgrace of God!  Shy, sweet, study-until-you-drop me!  It happened so naturally.  Sister approached me one day after the students were dismissed for lunch and handed me a wider, new elastic band with instructions to straighten up the name cards and then rubber band them.

“What?” …Opportunity knocked, and I was aghast!

“Thanks, Sister,”  I mumbled, and set to work.  There was my name, typed and right there in my hand.  I had fantasized about a moment like this. What a fantastic opportunity… to take my name out of the pile!  A wave of relief washed over me at the thought of no more pressure to answer to Sister for the rest of the year! 

I even counted the name cards.  I noticed the dwindling pile.  …Ten short of the 61.  Surely Sister should have noticed by now!  Trembling, I took my name card out of the pile and slipped it into my jacket pocket.  I then placed the elastic band snuggly around the name cards, and proceeded to lunch. 
 

Instead of the rush of victory coursing through my veins, the name card weighed me down like a ten ton boulder in my pocket.  My pocket was now a burden and my conscience screamed out-“Cheater”!
 

Should I confess?  Tell Sister what I knew about the other 10 cheaters too?

Upon returning to class, Sister got right to work, and I was safe from her scrutiny.  I felt relieved.  Only I still wasn’t happy.  I still studied each night, but now I wasn’t playing by the rules.  I felt miserable. 

I never did have an opportunity to replace the name card back, which was my intended plan to ease my own guilty conscience.  But I studied hard and in class I still called out wildly:  “Sist…Sist…Sister”, and each time, I looked over at Joey who had started the whole thing.  By May, he was an Oscar contender, but I decided to play it a bit more prudently.

And I suspect that those ten students who “Sist-ed” the loudest were the very ones who were the safest from the name card caller—Sister!



 

Hot Lunches

I know we drank milk at lunch. I remember scrambled hamburger and elbow macaroni, and really loving that lunch. We sat at a really long table, picnic style, and the kids would pass down their unwanted food items, relay style, to someone at the other end who wanted it, and then pass the empty plate back. The scrambled hamburger and potatoes and peas, layered atop one another, was a favorite of mine. I mixed all three together to create a mangled pile of brown specks in mounds of white potatoes, dotted with green peas. I collected piles of potatoes, until my pile covered the dish and gushed over the sides, all the more fun to lick around the rim.  I remember that a lunch ticket could be purchased for $1.25 for the week. That gave me five hot lunches on a punch card.

I loved the hot lunches.

 I don't really remember pizza at all. 

 I do remember macaroni and cheese and that it was really good and cheesy. Nobody passed any macaroni and cheese down the relay line.  I do remember eating at a reasonable time, until I became a senior, and then my stomach growled most of the day. That’s when I remember

wishing lunch were alphabetical instead of by grade. The pathway to the cafeteria was through a dark and dimly lit tunnel, connecting the school with the cafeteria, in case of rain, I guess.  I remember when the tunnel to food was closed down permanently, and then having to walk through weather both snow and rain, now, the only way to the cafeteria.   I remember that I no longer cursed the tunnel.  Too late!   I guess some of my memories of school have faded, but I do remember loving my hot lunches!

I think that is where I actually learned to inhale lunch, and food in general—for the rest of my life!  That darn lunch ticket. Heaven forbid I couldn’t find it or that I lost it!  It would be the Spanish Inquisition if a student didn’t have it. I always did!  …and not by chance.  I loved the Hot Lunches!!