Amazingly, there were nearly 900 kids in my school, and a small staff of nuns and lay teachers that did a good job at keeping pandemonium at bay. It was there that I learned it's not a "bathroom" but a "lavatory". Not a "water fountain" but a "bubbler". And the "gym" was called "the hall". I could never figure out why there were never any science classes in the lav, no bubbles in the drinking fountain, and the gym was just a great big room with no halls in it. Maybe math wasn't my only problem.
I also learned a lot about what really made a teachers life difficult beyond the fact that they had to face a horde of children every morning. In 5th grade, I had a teacher that would get so frustrated with an out of control classroom, she'd stand at the front and scream "YOU IMPUDENT BOOBS!!!" at the top of her lungs. We were 10. And yes, she scared the junk out of me. In second grade we had a nun that threw chalk, erasers, and collegiate dictionaries when she got mad. I developed my ninja like reflexes in that class!! Another teacher, who also happened to be a nun, had an overabundance of spit, evidently, because when you had to sit in the front of the class, it was literally the "splash zone". Not all the nuns were bad. And not all the lay teachers were good. There was an equal mix of strong and weak teachers just like in any school.
But I think one of the favorite times for all the teachers was report card day. It was the one day in the quarter that they actually got a break. Report cards didn't get mailed home, nor were they just given to us to take home. Our report cards were actually handed out with great gravity and ceremony.
On report card day, one of the priests from the rectory next door would come into the classroom and all the kids would immediately fall silent. It was usually Father O'Neil and he had a visage that scared even some adults. He was tall, stern, and always had a red face that made him look as if he was nearing spontaneous combustion. The long wool robe probably accounted for that. It was southern California and we ALL wore wool. Even the priests. But I think he kind of liked his "scary self" though. It made classes very easy to control.
Father O'Neil would sit in a chair at the front of the room, and one by one, us kids would go stand in front of him. He would read the name on the front of the report card and look us in the eye. I went there for 8 years, and he handed me my report card 32 times and never once pronounced my name correctly. Not his fault. My name is a nightmare. Especially for an Irish priest. Anyway, after reading our name, he would slowly open the card and read the grades over and decide if we needed a scolding or a pass. A harsh look brought the girls that needed it to tears. My steady 'D' in religion was a continual irritant to him. But I was able to contain myself and not blurt "WHAT!!?" as he looked up at me. I was hopeless. If anyone had told Father O'Neil that one day I would be a Bible teacher, he might have actually cracked a smile. It would have been a disbelieving one, but a smile nonetheless.
I'm glad I wasn't a boy on those report card days. Because nearly without fail, Father O'Neil would drop the report card to the floor and when the boy went to pick it up, he'd give him a swift kick in the keester. They knew it was coming and could do nothing to stop it. But even as all of that went on, the teacher sat blissfully at her desk, peacefully looking out the window, enjoying the brief break like a mini vacation.
And when I came to you, brethren,
I did not come with superiority of speech
or of wisdom,
proclaiming to you the testimony of God.
For I determined to know nothing among you
except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified.
I was with you in weakness and in fear
and in much trembling,
1 Cor. 2:1-3
In between dodging flying objects in 2nd grade, I actually made my "first holy communion"
4th grade and under the tutelage of a wonderful teacher
First day of 6th grade with little brother, Bunns. He was just starting his educational career
