Lately, for whatever reason, I have gotten into the habit of recalling incidents from my childhood. The ones I like to contemplate most are the ones that make me smile. Those that make me smile the most are my experiences at Our Lady Of Mount Virgin School, a Catholic elementary school in walking distance from our home.

My four sisters and I lived with my parents in a low rent housing project in Garfield, New Jersey. My dad was often out of work so, needless to say, my parents did not have much income at their disposal.

In spite of this, my always proud and loving mother, made up her mind that all five of us would attend a relatively expensive, at the time, private Catholic School instead of attending public school with the rest of the kids in our neighborhood.

Our family, of course, could not afford the school or the uniform requirements so my determined mother requested that the sisters permit us to pass down our uniforms to one another and just purchase one new uniform each year. The pastor had to sanction the idea, of course, and so we found ourselves to be students of Our Lady of Mount Virgin School in Garfield, New Jersey. My mother, in turn, agreed that she would serve lunch in the cafeteria three times a week. I guess in her mind, this was a small gesture of repayment for the church’s generosity and also it made her able to hold her head up high knowing that she was not completely indebted to the nuns for their services.

***

As I was about to drift off the other night, I recalled with amusement what it must have looked like to our neighbors as they watched four of the five of us (my sister Michele came a bit later) march out of our apartment each morning dressed alike in navy blue jumpers, white short sleeved blouses, bowties, crew hats, white bobby socks and black and white saddle shoes.  (We were careful to make sure that our uniform was complete and clean, or we would have to suffer through the day parading around with a crepe paper bowtie, made by the Sisters, or someone else’s lost crew hat.)

Each Monday, our teachers would call the role and ask the students to bring up their lunch money for the week.

Each Monday, I would respond, with a little color rising in my cheeks, as did my sisters no doubt, “I’m sorry, sister, but I will have to bring my lunch money in on Friday.”

On one occasion I was chosen to be an Angel in the Living Rosary Procession in honor of the feast of the Blessed Virgin. The problem was, I had no white tennis shoes which was a requirement. So, I went to school and advised Sister Superior that I could not be an Angel because I did not have white tennis shoes. Sister proceeded to drag an old cardboard box from the cloak room filled with used white sneakers and told me to find a pair. I did, and on the next Sunday, I proudly plodded into church, took my place in line, and proceeded in the procession with a pair of dirty white tennis shoes about one size too large.

The Sisters  on occasion would choose a student to come to the convent during lunch to serve their meal, clean up, and wash the dishes. This was supposed to be a reward for being a good student, and we, being so young and so awed,  actually took it as such. Anyway, it was my ‘good fortune’ one day to be asked.

At the end of my tasks, just before I was ready to return to the play ground, Sister asked if I would like an apple. I refused saying that I had cramps and therefore was not hungry.

Sister replied, “Do you have your friend?”

“What,” I answered back not knowing what she was talking about. “I have no friend; I’m here by myself.”

“Your period,” she said adamently. “Are you on your period?”

I was beside myself with embarrassment and was at a loss for words. How could Sister possibly know anything about a period?  She was a Nun!  I was too flabbergasted to even attempt a reply.