When Sr. Christiana handed me my Report Card at the end of the school year, she also landed her last drag-down, knockout punch to what little was left of my self-esteem. A grade of 75 was the passing grade and when I looked down at my Report Card I noticed that she had given me a final average of 76. But it was what she said to me that was especially damaging as she shoved the report card into my hand. Then with a particularly nasty look on her typically unpleasant face, she said spitefully, “I’m passing you for one reason and one reason only. I’m doing it as a personal favor to your father for chauffeuring me around.”
Sister Christiana, how vicious could one woman be? Did they teach you nothing when you were studying to be an Elementary School Teacher? Did you not realize that you were telling me I was a completely incapable human being?
How can I forgive you for this?
But, as I reflect on this incident I try to analyze things that happened at this time in my life to help me better understand and resolve my anger and find some level of forgiveness.
When I look back, I realize that some of my anger is probably directed at my parents as well as at you, Sr. Christiana. You see, the year before, while still a student at PS 76, my entire class was tested (an IQ test of sorts) and it was determined that my aptitude was in the gifted range. Therefore, I was invited to attend another public school that had a special program for talented and gifted students. The way I see it, the decision that was made regarding this educational opportunity was influenced by two things.
First of all, the public school with a program for talented and gifted students was further away from our home and my mother didn’t know how to drive. Actually, my mother never learned to drive which, by the way, she lamented until her dying day. My father didn’t see the need for my mother to learn to drive, and my mother didn’t pursue lessons on her own. My father was the master of our house and my mother went along with his wishes (most of the time), which in that era wasn’t very unusual. The bottom line was I was only eight years old and my parents didn’t think I could safely get myself to a school farther away from my house. Basically it would have created a family hardship to transport me to and from school. Secondly, my brother was scheduled to graduate from the 6th grade at PS 76 one year later and my parents were planning to transfer him and me and my younger brother, Marty, to St. Michael’s Elementary School where they believed we would be safe and sound under the tutelage of the dear Dominican Sisters until we graduated from the 8th grade. My parents’ reasoning was clear to me. They, and in particular, primarily my father, viewed the prospects of sending Charlie and the rest of us kids to a Public Junior High School dangerous physically, mentally and spiritually. In their minds, a public Junior High was a frightening, sinister place where evil reigned supreme. He thought the Good Sisters could guide us on the path to righteousness and keep us from all harm and danger. Possibly, Sr. Christiana, the nun he chauffeured all around town, (see, my Mom wasn’t the only woman who didn’t drive back in the 1950’s) had promised him as much. I can almost hear her saying, “don’t worry, Mr. Fries, I’ll make sure your daughter is in my class and I’ll keep her in line.” I’m not saying I was a bad child, but I was rambunctious and bright and I asked a lot of questions. I dare say from my Catholic educational experiences, the principles that abound and keeps one in good standing are “Accept what I say without questioning it” and “Sister knows best”. Ask for a clarification on such things as the “Immaculate Conception” or the meaning of “Three Persons in One God” and you’re in deep trouble!
I wander off my topic a bit, but the point I am trying to make is that, for a few different, somewhat complicated, not particularly clear reasons, a decision was made to turn down the invitation I received for a unique educational opportunity. I don’t remember having any say in this decision making, after all I was only an eight year old child at the time. I do however, remember feeling disappointed and helpless. I also bring up the subject of my IQ test results not so much to brag but as a way to show how the intelligence of a bright young person can be squelched in the hands of an inept teacher and parents who were somewhat blinded by misconceptions about religion, obedience, and good and evil.
While going through boxes of old photos and memorabilia retrieved from my parents’ basement after they died I was surprised to discover the formal photo of Sr. Christiana, her prayer card when she died, and even a photo of her mother and father. It makes me question what kind of relationship my parents, and most especially, my father, had with Sr. Christiana. I do remember going with my parents and Sr. Christiana for a ride to Rockaway for a visit with Sr. Christiana’s brother. I remember his house was lovely with a large front porch and I remember Sr. Christiana seemed pleasant enough to my parents. I remember being a bit invisible. And, I remember it felt better to be invisible than to be looked upon as an incompetent moron.
So, I’m finished with 5th grade and Sister Christiana now. Do I forgive her? I guess I’d have to say that I no longer want her to have such power over me. She was terrible to me and I was justified to be angry. I hope she is sorry for what she did to ruin my fledging self-esteem. But, then again, I doubt she was even aware that she was hurting me to the core. I also see that she, as well as my parents, existed in a very different pre-Vatican II church. One positive thing that she probably left me with is the gumption to speak out against evils when I see them. I am no longer a powerless child and even though she left permanent scars on my self-esteem, I do my best to speak Truth to Power. RIP
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