My Mom and I had our struggles, for sure. I think that is why it is easy for me to remember those times when she showed me her support.
I mentioned this particular nun by name in the "It Just Gets Worse" post. I am not going to mention it here. Those who read this that shared in my experience will, for sure, know who I am talking about.
She entered the convent not long after my Mom had taken us to Idaho. She had come from Pennsylvania. She was the only girl in a large family of boys. I think that is why they put her in the boys' school as a teacher.
In the early years, when we were bussed from Coeur d'Alene to the "City of Mary" for school, she was most often the bus monitor. The bus monitor was there to make sure that everyone followed the rules. They would walk up and down the aisle of the bus, checking. The boys were seated in the front of the bus, the girls in the back. It was not uncommon to have 4 people in one seat. She carried a ruler and did not hesitate to smack anyone she thought was breaking the rules.
The rules were:
Absolutely NO looking out the window.
Eyes closed, hands folded perfectly together.
No talking to each other. The Rosary was prayed coming and going.
The lunacy of these rules does not escape me now. Nor does the cruelty inflicted if one were caught taking a peak out the window. Numerous sets of blinders were made for those who violated that rule. Humiliation. Fear. Control.
I distinctly remember her saying to Scott South: "Mr. South, wipe that smile off your face before I wipe it off for you!" What were you thinking, Scott?
Another time, she approached me, and after I got done trembling, I looked up at her. She very sweetly said, 'Would you do me a favor?" I was so thrilled that she was being nice to me. Then, she sarcastically said, "Would you please find me a picture of Mary folding her hands like you are? Sloppy." Bam! There it was! Well, after we got back to the boarding house, I was telling my friend, Lucy, about it. And, leave it to her to go and find a holy card picture of the Blessed Virgin folding her hands in prayer in an imperfect manner. On the back of it, Lucy had written, "Our Lady of the School bus". I never showed it to the nun, though I really wanted to.
So, years passed and I left the convent. More years passed, and lo and behold, this nun left the convent. If only that were the end of this tale.
In 1999, we were getting ready to attend a family Thanksgiving dinner with Bernie's family. His Mom mentioned that she was bringing a "lovely young woman" (her exact words) to dinner. Bernie asked who it was. And, when she told him the name, he said, "Oh no! Mom, Francie hates her!" When I heard that she was going to be at our Thanksgiving dinner, I was devastated. I cried and I cried - and, this was one of those times when MY Mom supported me. She knew how mean this woman had been to me, and she told me that she would stay home with me, if I didn't want to go. I told her that we would go, I would just buy a very large bottle of wine.
Bernie's Mom showed up a bit later with her "lovely young woman" guest. I spent the better portion of the day avoiding her, dodging her. I could have sworn that she was determined to interact with me. However, I was MORE determined that that was not going to happen, and I succeeded. It was probably the worst Thanksgiving dinner of my life.
She had moved from Pennsylvania - again - back to the Spokane area. She was single and working on her own doing taxes for folks.
Some time down the road, a letter arrived at our house. It was for me, and it was from HER. She said that she wanted to apologize for how mean she had been to me. I thought that was all fine and good, and I wrote her back. I told her that I accepted her apology, but that I still hated her. I know that sounds childish and petty. But, it is exactly how I felt. She was just a horribly mean human being.
And that was pretty much the last I ever heard of her. Until yesterday. Bernie was looking through the obituaries from Spokane and saw that she had passed away in May. He called out to me that she was dead. My only reaction was this: "God, have mercy on her soul."
The memories of her cruelty live on. In mentioning to various friends that she had passed, the response was universal: She was so mean. Who knows what brought this out in her. It really doesn't matter, does it? She touched many little lives in such a negative and harsh way.
And, she was not alone. As my Mom said, "Francie, a lot of the nuns were mean, but SHE just seemed to enjoy it more than the others."
