Sharing My Story to Heal the Broken Child - Sr. Christiana and the Horrors I experienced in her 5th Grade Class - Part 1

I recently discovered a formal photo of Sr. Christiana in an old box containing photos and other memorabilia that was hidden away in my parents basement. I inherited a lot of these kinds of boxes 📦 when my father died in 2013 shortly before his 98th birthday. My parents kept every photo ever taken, every letter or card they ever received, every canceled check, basically everything that came into their house during 60 years of marriage. Considering the vast amount of stuff I inherited, I felt it was interesting and a bit providential that a picture of this particular nun, Sr. Christiana, popped up at this particular moment. I had recently joined a Facebook group entitled “Highland Park- East New York, Brooklyn”. My old Parish, St. Michael the Archangel on Jerome Street fell into this category. The photos and some of the recent group discussions about St. Michael’s Church and the elementary and high school opened a floodgate of memories for me. Being confronted by the unexpected but crystal clear professional photo of Sr. Christiana was like being slapped across the face. Unwillingly it pushed me into some rather unpleasant memories. Actually “ unpleasant “ is way too weak a word to adequately describe my first year at St. Michael’s Elementary School. When I first stepped foot into Sr. Christiana’s 5th grade classroom, I was a well adjusted, happy little 9 year old girl. I was also a smart and inquisitive child who had just transferred from a public school. I had no idea what was about to hit me and I wasn’t the least bit prepared for the horrendous emotional abuse that was about to break my spirit and ruin my self- esteem. Six and a half decades later, at the ripe old age of 75, I still harbor anger and resentment. I’d like to resolve my negative feelings once and for all and thus I hope to use reflection and the written word to help me reach this goal. I also think it is important to share the information as a way of increasing awareness so that nothing like this ever happens again. Because my older brother, Charlie, was graduating from the 6th grade at PS 76, my parents transferred him and, in turn, me and my younger brother, Marty to St. Michael’s. My parents made this decision to transfer us to Catholic School in order to save Charlie from the evils of a Public Junior High. It seemed they believed the public school would be dangerous to him physically and would possibly lead him to lose the “ one true faith”. Back in the 1950’s, it was commonly accepted knowledge - at least by us Catholics- that we were the only ones who had the right idea about God, the only ones who would easily be accepted at those pearly gates. Not too arrogant, huh! I recall being excited that I was going to be able to wear a school uniform for the first time in my life and I was especially enamored by the cute little navy blue beanie with the school initials, SMS embroidered in the front. I quickly came to realize that this superficial stuff meant nothing because shorthly after entering this new environment the "shit hit the fan" and the uniform and the beanie meant only punishment and heartache. Let me step back for a minute. In my years ( K- 4 ) at PS 76, I really enjoyed myself. I honestly don’t ever remember being reprimanded or scolded for anything. I loved learning new things and after an IQ test was administered in 3rd grade, I was even invited to transfer to a nearby school that catered to “ gifted” students. My mother didn’t have a driver’s license and there were no school buses in my area, so logistically transporting me to another school further away just wouldn’t work. Therefore my parents declined the invitation for me and a year later, I found myself on the front steps of St. Michael the Archangel Elementary School. I was nine years old when I entered the realm of “dear”, old Sr. Christiana. Some of the details are a bit foggy, since it is so many years ago - 66 years ago to be exact ( September 1954) - but certain memories remain crystal clear. I can still see the shape of the classroom and the way the desks were arranged. I can still hear certain words, certain things that were said to me. Obviously they were branded deeply and permanently into my brain. But the looks of disgust and the feelings of hurt, shame and anger are sadly, the most lasting memories of all. I must admit that Sr. Christiana looks almost angelic in this recently discovered photograph, but this is not how I remember her. I do not remember her in any sort of angelic way. To be continued.......