As Mother raises each dish, pot, pan, and silverware piece from the kitchen sink's soapy, hot water, she scrubs one at a time, pours hot water over them, and hands each piece to me for towel drying. "Mom?"
”Yes?"
I hesitate. "Ummmmm."
"What do you want, Gordon?" As usual, Mother is impatient. As I expected.
"It's difficult."
Mother rubs her right cheek with a forearm, water dripping on the black and white linoleum floor. "What's difficult?"
"To say what I want to say."
"I'm your mother. You can say anything to me, that is, within reason."
The conversation moves as I planned. "Dad didn't want us going to Catholic school, but now that he's no longer, you know—with us—can I attend Saints Peter and Paul instead of Howe?"
"I'd call that a downright shock, Gordon, a bolt of lightning out of the sky."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because all these years, you've been calling SS Peter and Paul students, 'Cat Lickers.' Give me one good reason why I should permit you to change schools."
I won't tell her I want to avoid summer school plus Saturday morning Baltimore Catechism classes I must attend during the nearly nine months I attend public school. (Who made you? God made me. Why did God make you? To know, love, and serve him.)
"Just because."
"Just because is not an answer. Give me one good reason."
"Bobby and Jimmy Kell and Louie Abler go there."
Arms akimbo, Mother glares. "Don't push your mother, Gordon. I've plenty of things on my plate."
"Which one, home plate or this one?" I display the China piece I'm drying.
"That's enough, Mister Thorndike Dictionary, or you'll be attending the Green Bay Reform School, if I have anything to say about it."
"Yes, Ma'am."
* * * * *
Mother shows me a letter from School Principal Sister Mary Laurentia. I am assigned Sister Mary Lawrence as my seventh-grade teacher.
On the first day of school, I half-stumble down Old Grove hill as I’m accompanied by Bobby, Jimmy, and Henhouse Helen Kell. "You're lucky you didn't get Beaky," says Bobby.
I laugh. "Beaky?"
"Yeah, Sister Mary Rose," laughs Jimmy.
"Everyone calls her Beaky," remarks Henhouse. "And I mean everyone."
"The other nuns, too?" I ask.
"No, not them."
We giggle. Still, I feel queasy. Did I make the right decision? Soon, we're at the school building. Up the stairs, I tag along with Bobby and Jimmy who point out my classroom before they head to their eighth-grade classroom. I enter my assigned classroom and approach the only empty student desk, the one in the rear of row three. "Are you in the right room?" asks the kid across from me in row two.
"I think so." I shrug.
Soon, a boy runs up and down the hallway, his hand pumping the black handle of a brass bell. "Ka-lang, ka-lang, ka-lang."
A moment later, Sister Mary Lawrence glides effortlessly and silently into our classroom. She's just there. A miracle. She doesn't walk in. Of that, I'm certain. She either rides on silent, rubber wheels or flies low. Stopping in the front, center of the room, she smiles. "Stand, please."
We stand. Sister and students make the sign of the cross together. I'm seconds behind them. They recite the Lord's prayer. I stumble over words. I don't think anyone notices. After reciting the Hail Mary, we pledge allegiance to the flag.
"Sit." We students sit. "I suppose you noticed," says the nun, "our new student. Please stand, Gordon."
I look around for another Gordon. A moment later, I know she's talking about me. I stand.
"Students, this is Gordon Hoffman."
The kids applaud.
During recess, Louie Abler tells me our teacher is the nicest, easiest-going nun he's ever known. I’m certain the serene and gentle of voice nun is graciousness and beauty personified.
* * * * *
After lunch, we study grammar. Sister calls on individual students to approach the blackboard and diagram a sentence she slowly repeats until the entire sentence is on the blackboard. This is the first time I see such schematics. I am both stunned and intrigued.
During the first week, we have a spelling bee. I'm not the last student standing. SSPP students are smarter than Howe students or better taught. Or both.
”Yes?"
I hesitate. "Ummmmm."
"What do you want, Gordon?" As usual, Mother is impatient. As I expected.
"It's difficult."
Mother rubs her right cheek with a forearm, water dripping on the black and white linoleum floor. "What's difficult?"
"To say what I want to say."
"I'm your mother. You can say anything to me, that is, within reason."
The conversation moves as I planned. "Dad didn't want us going to Catholic school, but now that he's no longer, you know—with us—can I attend Saints Peter and Paul instead of Howe?"
"I'd call that a downright shock, Gordon, a bolt of lightning out of the sky."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because all these years, you've been calling SS Peter and Paul students, 'Cat Lickers.' Give me one good reason why I should permit you to change schools."
I won't tell her I want to avoid summer school plus Saturday morning Baltimore Catechism classes I must attend during the nearly nine months I attend public school. (Who made you? God made me. Why did God make you? To know, love, and serve him.)
"Just because."
"Just because is not an answer. Give me one good reason."
"Bobby and Jimmy Kell and Louie Abler go there."
Arms akimbo, Mother glares. "Don't push your mother, Gordon. I've plenty of things on my plate."
"Which one, home plate or this one?" I display the China piece I'm drying.
"That's enough, Mister Thorndike Dictionary, or you'll be attending the Green Bay Reform School, if I have anything to say about it."
"Yes, Ma'am."
* * * * *
Mother shows me a letter from School Principal Sister Mary Laurentia. I am assigned Sister Mary Lawrence as my seventh-grade teacher.
On the first day of school, I half-stumble down Old Grove hill as I’m accompanied by Bobby, Jimmy, and Henhouse Helen Kell. "You're lucky you didn't get Beaky," says Bobby.
I laugh. "Beaky?"
"Yeah, Sister Mary Rose," laughs Jimmy.
"Everyone calls her Beaky," remarks Henhouse. "And I mean everyone."
"The other nuns, too?" I ask.
"No, not them."
We giggle. Still, I feel queasy. Did I make the right decision? Soon, we're at the school building. Up the stairs, I tag along with Bobby and Jimmy who point out my classroom before they head to their eighth-grade classroom. I enter my assigned classroom and approach the only empty student desk, the one in the rear of row three. "Are you in the right room?" asks the kid across from me in row two.
"I think so." I shrug.
Soon, a boy runs up and down the hallway, his hand pumping the black handle of a brass bell. "Ka-lang, ka-lang, ka-lang."
A moment later, Sister Mary Lawrence glides effortlessly and silently into our classroom. She's just there. A miracle. She doesn't walk in. Of that, I'm certain. She either rides on silent, rubber wheels or flies low. Stopping in the front, center of the room, she smiles. "Stand, please."
We stand. Sister and students make the sign of the cross together. I'm seconds behind them. They recite the Lord's prayer. I stumble over words. I don't think anyone notices. After reciting the Hail Mary, we pledge allegiance to the flag.
"Sit." We students sit. "I suppose you noticed," says the nun, "our new student. Please stand, Gordon."
I look around for another Gordon. A moment later, I know she's talking about me. I stand.
"Students, this is Gordon Hoffman."
The kids applaud.
During recess, Louie Abler tells me our teacher is the nicest, easiest-going nun he's ever known. I’m certain the serene and gentle of voice nun is graciousness and beauty personified.
* * * * *
After lunch, we study grammar. Sister calls on individual students to approach the blackboard and diagram a sentence she slowly repeats until the entire sentence is on the blackboard. This is the first time I see such schematics. I am both stunned and intrigued.
During the first week, we have a spelling bee. I'm not the last student standing. SSPP students are smarter than Howe students or better taught. Or both.
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