Whenever two or more alumni of these institutions meet talk will inevitably turn to our classroom experiences. Speaking with great enthusiasm we will exchange light hearted banter before slipping into the telling of our most horrifying, neurosis inducing classroom experiences. As these stories evolve there is the exhibiting of schizophrenic behavior by the speaker and audience alike. There is wild swinging of arms and loud interruptions of " Ah, man! " and " No ! ". Everyone is in an uproar. As emotional exhaustion takes over the group a few listeners will give an exaggerated nod of the head in the hope of conveying the empathy everyone feels for the victim speaker. As the session ends there are clucking sounds emanating from a sympathetic friend followed by an uncomfortable moment of silence. Everyone is spent and looks horsewhipped. Then, a round of drinks is ordered and the talk turns to how fast time passes and what our grandchildren are doing.
Hold on there. Our grandchildren? Grown grandchildren? We're old people still talking about grade and high school? Good Lord, what is wrong with us? I will venture to say nothing, at least not because we're telling old stories. That is, if we really have at this point in our lives, reached inside our heart and soul for truth and understanding for all of the brave, strong, good women that devoted their lives to teaching the ungrateful urchins that we were ( are ).
I believe the nuns, just as our mothers, received the blame for many an imagined slight toward us, their beloved daughters and sons. And, as with mothers everywhere, the nuns have paid a high price for it. Many a psychiatrist, psychologist, past student, author and Catholic comedian blames their mother and the nuns that taught them for most everything they feel is wrong with them and therefore, the world.
MOTHERs and NUNs =