Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child - The Sin of Chewing Gum

 

The following incident happened to me in one of the four long “endless” years I attended St. Michael’s Elementary School in East New York.  I’m not sure which nun inflicted this next bit of humiliation on me, but since I remember - till this day, 6 decades later - my deep feelings of shame and embarrassment, something tells me it very likely might have been the work of Sr. Christiana or Sr. Delores Theresa.

I was caught chewing gum in class which was apparently considered a really terrible sin because the punishment inflicted on me just about destroyed any of my remaining self-esteem. I was told to stand up at the side of my desk, remove the gum from my mouth and push into my hair right smack above my forehead. Sister said she wanted it to be plainly visible so everyone could see that I had sinned (I may have paraphrased the word sinned but you get my drift) and, possibly it might deter my classmates and other students at St. Michael’s Elementary School from committing such a heinous crime. I had to continue my day, walking around school with this “scarlet letter” hanging prominently from my bangs. I remember that I held my head down in shame and wished I could disappear into the floor. I remember my feelings of mortification vividly; and I remember that this particular day never seemed to end.

When I got home from school I uttered a quick, “Hi” as I ran past my Mom and up to my bedroom.  I grabbed my Mickey Mouse hat from the top of my dresser and pulled the cap down over the front of my forehead.  I desperately wanted to cover the gum, my terrible “sin”, and my shame and embarrassment. I went downstairs, got a drink from the refrigerator and sat at the dining room table to do my homework. After awhile my mother noticed I hadn’t removed the Mickey Mouse ears.  Eventually she questioned my atypical behavior with one simple sentence,  

  “Why are you wearing that silly hat all afternoon?” I immediately burst into tears. The floodgates opened and I was sobbing.  Not knowing how she would react, I told her of my terrible crime. “I was chewing gum”, I said between my sobs “and Sister made me stick the gum into my hair.” When I pulled off my cap to show her, she opened the nearby kitchen drawer, pulled out a scissor and quickly snipped out the gum.  In one beautiful, glorious second, my mother removed my humiliation, absolved me from my sin and restored me to wholeness. 

She may have hugged me too.

Anne Rose O'Donnell was born 100 years ago today.

Normally, during the years that Aunt Anne lived on Ledgewood Drive in Colonie, NY, I would be baking a birthday cake on this date in December.  Typically, we would be celebrating Aunt Anne's birthday with her.   It was quite wonderful having her live close by.  Since she never married, she was, in essence, "another mother" to all her nieces and nephews.  She was generous and loving and when she died rather suddenly in October 1994, it was a shock to all of us.  She had named me the Executrix of her will and when I went through her personal belongs in her apartment and her storage area in the basement, I felt privileged, albeit, a bit invasive.  Honestly, when you die, your privacy is thrown to the wind.  Everything she left behind was on display for me to see.  I found a photo in her night stand, right next to where she slept.  It was a picture of Annie and "the love of her life", Eddie Moran, a farmer from the green, rolling earth known at Irish Hill in the area of Friendsville, Pennsylvania.   They never married, but, I dare say it was certainly not for lack of love.  Sometimes, certain life circumstances intervene. While looking through old photos albums, I also learned about a major family secret.  Honestly, it jumped out so vividly and unexpectedly, it was as if Annie was leaning over me and egging me on.  I did a little investigation and the secret was confirmed as true.  Nonetheless, it wasn't popular with the family and shall remain hidden in this Blog entry.  I also found documentation of many loans that Aunt Anne made to family members, and most were not repaid.  This will also remain a secret.  It did, however, give me a very clear picture of Anne's love, forgiveness and generosity.   On one occasion, I remember hearing that Aunt Anne told my brother, Marty that she wondered whether she would ever be remembered or missed after her death.  After all, she never married nor had any children to pass on her legacy.  Well, Aunt Anne O'Donnell, we love you and miss you and will share your stories as long as we live.  

Anne Rose O'Donnell was born in Brooklyn, NY on 12-10-1920.  She spent many delightful summers at her grandmother, Hannah Byrne Coleman's house in Friendsville, Pa., where, as a teenager, she attended Square Dances and other wonderful events and met the love of her life, Eddie Moran.  For many years she worked in Manhattan as a well loved and well respected manager in the Insurance Department of the Talbot Bird Company.   She liked to play games, especially a King of Hearts card game with her nieces.  She enjoyed movies at the Loew's Gates and RKO Bushwick with her nieces, Sharon and Mary Beth.  She liked singing Irish tunes with her family, and especially liked “Galway Bay".  She enjoyed Chinese food, rye and ginger, pretzel sticks, and the TV Golden Girls.  She learned to drive in Friendsville and never drove again until she retired to Colonie, NY.  Anne lived in Brooklyn, NY and Woodhaven, Queens before moving to Colonie, NY after she retired. She was very close to her sister, Dot, who died in 1942 at the age of 22.  They were a year apart in age - Dot was born in December 1919 and Anne was born in December 1920 and Anne grieved Dot's loss always.  She also had her heart broken when she lost her only brother, Joe, on October 13, 1951.  The story I heard was that when Aunt Anne, 30 years of age at the time, came home from her job at Talbot Bird Insurance Company and was given the devastating news that her brother Joe had been killed in action in Korea, she sat on her mother's lap in a rocking chair as her mother held her and rocked her like a baby.  Joe was 29 years old at the time of his death, and he was approximately a year and a half younger than Anne.   Sadly, Anne was surrounded by the loss of her two siblings. 

Anne died on October 7, 1994 at Albany Medical Center.  She is buried in the Friendsville, Pennsylvania Cemetery next to her parents, Margaret Coleman O'Donnell and T.J. O'Donnell and her beloved sister, Dorothy O'Donnell. 

 

More Remembrances of my Aunt Anne O’Donnell

Aunt Anne was a physically beautiful woman with a gorgeous, voluptuous body. Most of the Coleman and O’Donnell women were endowed with pleasing, plentiful bosoms and Anne was no exception.  One famous true story or, should I say, infamous true story, involves this exceptionally attractive attribute of my pretty Aunt.  Anne knelt in the white sands of Rockaway Beach in a cream colored one piece bathing suit.  Honestly, she looked like a model on the cover of the swimsuit edition of Sports Illustrated. I guess the photographer, my father, Charlie Fries, Sr., must have thought so, because he made a Christmas  Card using this photo and unbeknownst to Annie, sent it my Aunt’s co-workers at the Talbot Bird Insurance Company that Christmas.  Nowadays, it might not have gone over so well but back in the 1940’s it was a big hit at the office.   I’m not sure how my Aunt Anne felt about it! As least the photo was definitely flattering.

--

---

 

Remembering My Mother, "The Writer"

 

My mother, Rita Mary O’Donnell Fries, loved to write.  She wanted to be a writer and I guess you could say she was a writer because when she died she left behind a massive amount of loose-leaf binders and copybooks and stray pieces of paper filled with her words and little stories from her life.

Twenty-two years ago today, November 19, 1998, my mother’s spirit left her physical body.   I watched her leave that day and I knew for certain she no longer resided there.  Have you ever had that experience?  You can tell the person you know and love has left the premises.

What better way to remember my mother than share a random entry from one of her many journals.  This was dated
“Friday, January 5, 1979

It’s almost midnight. I was extremely tired and Charlie offered to finish cleaning the kitchen.  We had a marvelous evening with Donna, Marty Jr. and Shannon.  Marty, Sr. went out with the boys after work. He starts a new job on Monday and will be working out of Water Street.  He said this was not a party. The party is next week.   Joe Fries called tonight and said he was Santa Claus.  Little Shannon got on the phone and said:  “Hello Santa Claus, thank you for my presents and my doll.”

Donna brought in some beef soup which was delicious.  We had roast chicken, macaroni, grated carrots and zucchini. Marty grabbed a bite when he got home.  Donna and the children made cookies with me.  They gave me a beautiful cookie cutter set “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.  There are recipes for making Christmas tree ornaments using them. Marty and Shannon are a joy to have around.  Charlie fixed the electrical shooting game that George sent to Marty.

We saw Charlie, Jr. for a moment.  He was on his way home to Valley Stream with Helen and the children.  I gave him the dungarees Donna exchanged for me.  A Christmas present for Charlie the third.

I finished “Are You There, God? It’s me, Margaret” by Judy Blume.

A strange thing happened today.  A black dog that resembled “Blackie” followed the mailman from around the corner to our house.  Charlie asked if we could keep him.  I couldn’t refuse under the circumstances.  It was like Blackie reincarnated.  But, he didn’t stay.

Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child - 6th Grade Sr Delores Theresa

 

TUESDAY, APRIL 20, 2010

Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child - 6th Grade - Sweet Little Catholic Girl vs. Sr. Delores Theresa

This blog entry was written awhile ago but since I am trying to organize my "Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child" in somewhat of a chronological way, I have decided to repost this entry here. As you know from my last blog entry I have finally left the horrors of Sr. Christiana’s classroom, albeit a bit battered and scarred. In my opinion the abuse in 5th grade was shocking and severe even though I do not remember ever being hit physically by Sr. Christiana. Nonetheless, in my opinion, mental degradation can be just as bad or even worse. That was to change in the next school year.
Here is the true story, as I remember it, of an incident that happened to me as a student in Sr. Delores Theresa’s 6th Grade classroom. I stuck my tongue out and shoved a thumb into each ear, waving my fingers wildly.
It was an instinctive, immediate reaction, certainly not a premeditated crime. I needed to say a thousand angry words quickly. In one spontaneous split second everything I felt was expressed succinctly and with complete abandonment.
She was retreating up the aisle with her back to me, so I thought it was safe. She had proven once and for all, at my expense, that she was the winner and she was in charge.
Then it happened. My classmates let out a roar. They were my perfect audience. A bunch of 12 year olds on the verge of puberty waiting for any type of entertainment, any type of show. Their outburst was as spontaneous as my own - the result of years and years of severe and unnecessary oppression. Hearing their loud, silly laughter, she stopped in her tracks and pivoted in the aisle - rosary beads a weapon at her side as she flew back to me and stood towering over my desk. Her beet red face squeezed in an unnatural way into the antiquated pre-Vatican headgear would have intimidated General Patton. "What did she do", she demanded of my classmates. "Oh dear God," I prayed to myself in utter desperation, "please don't let them betray me". No one answered. No one said a word. I never loved a group of kids more than I loved those kids that day.
If you knew what provoked my anger, you'd have been on my side, too.

Sharing my Story to Heal the Broken Child - 6th Grade - Sweet Little Catholic Girl vs. Sr. Delores Theresa -continued

People want to know what Sr. Delores did to me to make me go ballistic.

It was many years ago but the fact that I remember the incident quite clearly is tell-tale.

It affected me profoundly. As I became older and wiser I began to realize more of the implications. Young children and adolescents are fragile beings and are deeply affected by what those in authority say or do to them.

Shortly before I reacted so wildly - I mean really what catholic school student sticks her tongue out at a nun even if her back is towards her? - Sister Delores had come down the aisle and ripped the shirt off my back. Unprovoked. The reason why? I had committed the horrendous sin of wearing something other than the uniform navy blue cardigan. It was a cold day and to be perfectly honest, I don’t think I even owned a navy blue cardigan. Our school uniform consisted of a navy blue jumper and a white blouse with a peter pan collar and a little clip-on navy blue bow tie and a stupid looking navy blue beanie (even though silly looking - I loved the beanie). I remember washing the blouse out and hanging it up on a hangar almost every day after school. I probably owned only two white blouses. We weren’t rich. My Dad was the lab assistant and an adjunct professor in the Physics Department at Queens College and my Mom did not work outside the home. I had three siblings. Besides a scarcity of money, my mother didn’t drive and we lived a distance from any worthwhile stores. Also, my father thought clothes were a necessary evil. People would tease my Dad, saying that he was still wearing the same suit his mother bought for him when he graduated from high school. The joke of it all was that it wasn’t too far from the truth.

Good Catholic girl that I was, I wouldn’t think of asking for things that I thought my parents couldn’t afford. Besides, I had learned from my father that clothes were not important. My father is German, did I mention that? Wanting fancy clothes and other material things that might be glamorous or unnecessary in any way, bordered on sinfulness.

So typically, I just didn’t wear a sweater over my uniform and this was fine. You didn’t need to wear a sweater to be considered in the proper school uniform. But then, one winter day, it was cold. I mean really cold. I found a flannel shirt lying around the house and I put it on over my uniform. I wore it to school under my coat. Since we had to walk several blocks from our house to the city bus and then take the bus for several stops and then walk a couple of blocks again to reach the Catholic school, I was still feeling cold when I arrived at school. Oh how I wished I was still “Public” – but then again that’s another story. So when I got to my classroom, the flannel shirt was feeling so warm and cozy that I simply left it on. Big mistake! My nice, warm, cozy feeling was short lived.

Possibly, it was Sr. Delores’ time of the month, or maybe she was feeling a bit lonesome that day, but I happened to be the target for her discontent. She suddenly appeared beside my desk and before I knew what was happening to me, she pulled the shirt from my body and slapped me across the face. I was shocked and humiliated. How dare she assault me like this!! But what could I do – she was a nun and I was a kid. I don’t remember tears and for me, the big cry baby, that was unusual. I guess deep down I knew that Sister’s behavior was horrendous and unacceptable. Looking back now, I wish I had been able to speak up for myself in a mature manner. But then again, I was a child and she was my teacher and a nun. Even though my reaction was childish, my anger was justified and the fact that I reacted with instantaneous fury says to me that I still had a bit of self respect and I thank God for that.

I don’t know if I ever forgave her and I don’t think she would even care or notice.