Fourth Grade

 

Fourth grade started on the wrong foot, on so many levels. I was assigned to the all boy class at Holy Name and my teacher was the infamous Sister Mary Marcella. On my very first day she called out my name. I enthusiastically raised my hand thinking that I had already been chosen to do something for her in front of everyone. She told me to come up to the front of the class. I was so excited when she told me to face the statue of the Holy Mother Mary. I immediately obliged and thought about the words to Hail Mary, Full of Grace, when I suddenly heard a swooshing sound and felt immense pain on my backside. I quickly turned and saw Sister Marcella holding a 3-foot long wooden pointer in her hand as she sternly said to me “You’re Kenny’s brother and I just want you to know, on the very first day, who runs this class. Now go take your seat!” I returned to my seat, put my head in my folded arms on the desk and burst into tears. Even as an 9-year old I knew she was doing something wrong and I would have to do whatever it took to survive. It was going to be a long year.

No matter how hard I tried, my reading skills were becoming more and more of a challenge, and I couldn’t sit still or pay attention long enough to write down the notes in class. Truth be told, I never actually learned to listen and take notes at all. I didn’t know how to memorize anything, so learning my prayers was especially hard. My first quarter grades were Cs and Ds, with a D in conduct. My second quarter grades were even worse, and I received an F for my conduct and attitude. I knew something was wrong and I just wasn’t happy. I knew I wasn’t dumb, but I just couldn’t remember anything I had read. I remember that two of my good friends, Chris Wynne and Stephen Simmons, both struggled as much as I did. I remember one time Stephen and I were forced to stand up in front of the class and were told to recite our prayers, but neither one of us could remember them. Sister Marcella hit both of us repeatedly with the wooden pointer. I remember looking over at Stephen, his face was bright red and tears were streaming down his cheeks as he cried, and realizing he was trying so very hard but he looked so frustrated because he was simply unable to recite the prayers. I remember thinking how wrong it was to hit poor Stephen because he was truly doing the best he could, and it seemed almost torturous. I remember thinking Sister Marcella had crossed the line.

Intramural sports, selling programs at Tulane Stadium and Cub Scouts were the only things I really enjoyed. And then it came time for my class to become alter boys. I was really excited and the first in my class to sign up, but Sister Marcella told me, in front of the entire class, that I was too bad to be an alter boy, and that I couldn’t go to the first meeting. I didn’t know what to say so I just went back to my desk. I didn’t want to tell my parents what she said because I didn’t want them to be mad at me. A few days later, there was an announcement over the loud speaker asking all Cub Scouts to come to a mandatory meeting in the auditorium. As we all stood up to go, Sister Marcella asked me “Where do you think you’re going?” I told her I was a Cub Scout and that I needed to go to the auditorium with the others. Once again, she said “No, you’re too bad to be a Cub Scout, now go sit back at your desk.” I just returned to my seat, put my head in my folded arms on the desk and burst into tears.

I went home from school that afternoon and just went up into my bedroom and cried. My mom finally came upstairs, asked me what was wrong and I told her what was happening at school. My mom sensed it was time to do something about it, so she said she would talk to my dad and get it fixed. 

The very next day, Father Sydney Lange came into my classroom and spoke quietly to Sister Marcella, and then asked me to follow him to the auditorium. I had known Father Lange for sometime and I knew that he was friends with my parents. I always looked up to him and I trusted him very, very much. We sat down in the auditorium and he asked me to talk to him about what was going on and about my feelings towards Sister Marcella. I burst into tears and just unloaded. I had been holding in a lot of confused emotions and I felt a great release to have a chance to share it all with Father Lange. I told him how much I loved being a Cub Scout and how much I wanted to be an altar boy. He assured me that no one, including myself, was ever too bad to be an altar boy. He told me that he wanted me to join the other boys in my grade at the next alter boy class and that he would advise Sister Marcella of his decision.

My parents also enrolled me into a local program study with a Dr. Gayle Worslow. Dr. Worslow was doing a study on the effects of a drug called Tofranil and she carefully explained to me how it all worked. She asked me if I would be interested in being a part of the program and I said yes. Over the next few weeks I could feel my mood changing. I felt much calmer and much more engaged in my school work. My third quarter grades improved to Bs and Cs, and I got my first A- in reading, my first A for the year. As my grades continued to improve in the fourth quarter, my parents let me take the entrance exam for Christian Brothers and I was accepted. And to top it all off, I captained my intramural basketball team to a first place blue ribbon and my football team won a second place red ribbon. On the morning on the track meet, I got into a scuffle on the playground with a guy and I told him I didn’t want to fight. He called me a chicken and I said I didn’t want to miss the track meet. I did something very different and I walked away from his taunts. That afternoon I won the first place blue ribbon for chin ups, the second place red ribbon for running (second to George Carey) and the third place white ribbon for jumping (behind George Carey and someone else who I no longer remember). I was 4’6” and weighed 60 lbs. Yes, I still have all my ribbons. But, best of all, I was accepted into the St. John Berchmann’s Alter Boy Society on May 24, 1969. Last but not least, I was going to attend Sam Barthe summer camp with my friend Stephen Ehlinger.

I loved Sam Barthe summer camp. It was extremely competitive and I met tons of new friends. My brother Pete and I were both on the Lakers team, and Charlie Bishop was our coach. I quickly realized that the better athletes who went to Sam Barthe school were all placed on the Celtics, which was led by Coach Errol Wilken, whose dad just happened to be the camp athletic director, Earl Wilken. But such is life and the Celtics were the team to beat. We all had a blast.

© 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice

My Wonder Years: A Book