Like A Prayer

Like a Prayer

I am going to assume my Mother might have been anxious to have a break from me as a youngster. She sent me to Pre-K, that’s pre-kindergarten in seventies speak, with the nuns two years in a row. By the end of my first year, I still wasn’t five, so I missed starting real school with my classmates. I was amenably forlorn. Bawling, pleading the parentals, even the Guy Upstairs, to let me go to big school. It felt like a reprimand I wouldn’t be moving on to a primary class at Southeast Passage School with my friends. Instead, I was held back for one more ring around the rosie at St. Andrew’s School Hall with Sisters Sophie and Evelyn.  

St. Andrew’s School Hall was situated next door to the convent where the nuns lived, several of them at that time or so I remember, I only knew two of them. I’d always see the others walking together to Church just around Quigley’s Corner. Walking in calm uniformed unison. Their residence always felt forbidden to me and yet I wanted to go inside so badly. And, I did. In my second year of Pre-K, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Pre-K was, for the most part, fun. There were opportunities to paint and draw, play games, have singsongs, and all with a little bit of Jesus thrown in for good measure. I especially enjoyed story-time with Sister Evelyn, or Sister Elephant as I called her. Not out of mockery but because I couldn’t pronounce Evelyn then. Father Mine picked me up once and I proudly introduced them, “Daddy, this is Sister Elephant. She reads us good books.” He was mortified but she didn’t bat an eye or miss a beat. Although, she did express concern, in my presence about my falling asleep mid-day. Which led to my first brush with h-e-double-hockey-sticks.

Shortly after Father Mine picked me up, my Mother received a phone call from Sister Sophie, “Good day, I just wanted to take a moment to call and congratulate you on the birth of your new baby. What a blessing!” My Mother, stunned on the other end of the line replied, “I beg your pardon?” Sister Sophie continued only with less confidence, “Your daughter said the reason for her dozing off during story-time was that she could never get a good night’s rest at home because the new baby did nothing but cry all night long and keep her awake.” My Mother rolled her eyes and chuckled. She explained to the good Sister there was most certainly no new baby disturbing our happy home and apologized profusely for my elaborate fib. It’s true, I lied to a nun. And, I got caught red-handed. How dare she try and share in our family’s non-existent joy!? Lord have mercy.

The best day of the whole two years I spent with the Sisters was the day I brought my hula-hoop for show and tell. I should remind you that I may have been an overweight delight as a child, but I had absolute command of a hula hoop. I’d lose my drawers, or my knee-high socks would drop to my knees, before that hoop hit the floor. Sister Sophie watched me twirl the colorful ring of plastic around my meaty hips in both shock and awe, “Well, I’ve never seen anything quite like it!” I beamed up at her, proud as punch, barely breaking a sweat (oddly enough), “You want to have a turn?” She blushed and nodded. The class was all atwitter. She stepped into it and held it up around her slender waist and I instructed her on how to start. Her first try was nothing other than an epic flop. The kids busted into a fit of giggles when it hit the floor and she squealed. She did eventually get the hang of it. She couldn’t keep it up for long, but we cheered her on all the same. Sister Evelyn heard all the hooting and hollering and came in the room to investigate, “What in Heaven’s name?!” Sister Sophie encouraged her to try. She did. Sister Sophie was tall and slender to Sister Evelyn’s short and round. Sister Evelyn couldn’t even manage one successful hip swivel. My hula-hoop garnered a whole afternoon of jollity.

When I was finally granted permission into the convent, I was fretfully eager. I knocked gently on the side door and looked through the door’s window down at the stairs for someone to come up and let me in. Sister Sophie invited me to pray with her in their chapel. One of her fellow Sisters opened the door and greeted me with the brightest some, “Come on in dear, Sister Sophie is on the phone. She won’t be a moment, come have a seat in the hall.” I sat obediently on the hall bench and quietly waited. I quietly wondered too. What their tiny rooms looked like and if was true they lived as sparse as they dressed. If they really were married to God and how exactly that worked. I waded in my thoughts a good while before Sister Sophie came to collect me, “I am so glad you came. Quite pleased! Come, let’s walk upstairs to the chapel.” It felt like one million stairs, longer than ‘Stairway to Heaven’ even. I was prepared to be led to a super-secret room with magnificent stained-glass windows, a slippery wooden pew, and an altar where maybe there’d be wine and those Body of Christ wafers. The room we entered was sparse. There was a window, a small kneeling post big enough for two. It was facing a beautiful golden cross, Jesus’ likeness centered. Sister Sophie kneeled and motioned for me to join her. She put a pair of prayer beads in my hands made of milky pearl-like stones. “You are a brave and special person. And therefore, also divine. Let us pray.” I knelt, head bowed, my hands folded in strict prayer. Sister Sophie spoke softly and confidently to Jesus. She knew her stuff. As she spoke, I got restless. I felt a slight itch in my nose that I really needed to scratch. I snuck open one eye to see if the coast was clear for a little nudge of the nostril, alas it was not. She was looking down on me in my Virgin Mary pose as she spoke. Startled, I sucked in about a quarter of a gasp and snapped both eyes shut and squeezed them tight. I couldn’t afford any other trouble south of the Heavenly border, so I stayed completely still until she decreed, “Amen.”

I had a much more pleasant experience being taught by the Sisters than some of my siblings. One of the teachers Brother Bear had who was a nun stuck a pencil eraser in his ear and twisted it forcefully back and forth. I don’t know why; he wasn’t listening or maybe he fell asleep at his desk. That might explain where my napping in class came from. At my second and last graduation from Pre-K they gave me a gift. A beautiful purple hardback copy of ‘A Child’s Garden of Verses’. I kept the gift tag and taped on the inside cover, Love to Nicky, Sister Sophie & Sister Evelyn. It stands proudly in my bookshelf to this day. I developed a bond with Sister Sophie and continued to visit her for guidance and prayer well into Junior High School.

Fast forward waaaay ahead to Christmas eve, what year I cannot recall. Way Cooler Big Sister and Biggest Little Sister attended midnight mass at St. Andrew’s. I stayed home with my Mother, opting for the comfort of my pajamas and twinkle lights over a snowy trek to sit in a cold pew. Way Cooler Big Sister had been visiting her best friend most of the evening and had consumed a Santa sack’s worth of babooze. As reported, after mass Biggest Little Sister lingered to dispense holiday wishes to some of her fellow parishioners. Way Cooler Big Sister was giddy, impatiently waiting to go home. To my utter horror, Sister Sophie had been in attendance that night and mistook my drunken Way Cooler Big Sister for meeee. I cringed that whole Christmas thinking of my beloved nun friend thinking I went into the house of God, DRUNK.

Hail Mary full of grace …

***

This little piece of creative non-fiction has been brewing in mind for a few days. Better out than in!

What a life I’ve had, eh?

More to come.

Stay tuned …

In propinquity,

Nic