Second Grade

 

I had my first nun named Sister Mary Hyacinth as a second grade teacher. It was an all boys class at Holy Name, and it was my first challenging year because Sister made us do homework, which meant it was the first time I actually had to bring books home and use the study my father had built for us. It was also at that point when I realized I had a problem staying focused on my reading, not the reading part so much, but remembering what I had just read. In other words, if it was a subject that wasn’t especially of interest to me, I would read the chapter, from start to finish, but I wasn’t really able to tell anyone what I had just read. It frustrated me to say the least. We would always go over the homework assignment in class the next day, and Sister Hyacinth would scold me when I couldn’t answer a question about the work. She would accuse me of not reading it and I would reply that I had indeed read it and that I just didn’t remember it. Sometimes the other kids in class would laugh. I remember smiling at the laughter thinking I had said something funny, but Sister Hyacinth would always say incredulously, “They’re not laughing with you Jeffrey, they’re laughing at you.” This was the first of many, many years where my report cards would say the same thing over and over again, “Jeffrey has so much potential if he would only do the homework assignment and stop talking so much in class.” What she and other teachers didn’t understand was that it was nearly impossible for me to stay attentive to their method of teaching, not because their method or style was necessarily bad or wrong, it just didn’t work for me. I got really bored, and being bored always led me to talking or simply looking out of the window at the birds or the squirrels.

I actually had always loved reading, especially when my mother would take us on our weekly, Summer trips to the New Orleans Public Library, and I would check out and read, each week, the maximum number of books allowed. My favorite book as a child was Where the Wild Things Are, by the American writer and illustrator Maurice Sendak. My mother suggested that I read it because “Max reminds me of you.” I felt a deep sense of connection with Max because we somehow understood each other. As any mother of a child like myself would know, this was the perfect book in helping me cope with my feelings and that, no matter what, my mother would always still love me. I also loved reading anything and everything about Paul Bunyan, Davy Crocket and Daniel Boone.

It was Sister Hyacinth that first told me that God was everywhere, and that God was in each of us. As a seven year old, I had a really hard time understanding how God could be in me, physically, and I needed a little more information on the concept. I truly wanted to know, to understand how God could be in me, and in everyone else, at the same time. I found it fascinating that God could be everywhere, all at once, and I frequently raised my hand and asked Sister to explain it a little more in detail. I couldn’t believe I was the only one in the entire class who needed more information, but instead of answering my questions, Sister accused me, in front of everyone, of interrupting and would hit my hands with the ruler as some form of punishment. Some of the other kids would laugh and Sister would tell me I was the class clown. I remember thinking she was really out of line for calling me out, but I never lost my intrigue in learning more about God, and I still remain fascinated with organized religion to this day.

It was also Sister Hyacinth that told us that “touching one’s self” was frowned upon, especially when our hands were in our pockets, and that it would indeed make us lose our eyesight. I remember looking over at my friend Wally, who wore glasses, and thinking he must like touching himself, which I found to be extremely confusing, especially since Wally was a really decent guy and I considered him my good friend. Looking back on it, I now wonder how Wally must have felt, or anyone who wore glasses as a 7-year-old, when a nun made a comment like that - crap we hear from the nuns and how an immature seven year old might misunderstand what the adult actually meant (eye roll).

I also learned in second grade not to go home and tell my dad if I got into trouble at school because he would spank me again. He often told me that the teachers were always right, no matter what. 

I won a second place red ribbon for basketball that year, which upset me because I loved basketball and I wanted the blue ribbon. I was also upset because on the morning of the school track meet that year I got into a fight on the playground. As yet another one of her many punishments, Sister wouldn’t let me participate in the track meet, and someone else won my first place blue ribbon in chin-ups. I never really liked Sister Hyacinth and I’m glad to have a chance at the last word. She was not a nice person. May her soul rest, wherever it is.

© 2022 Jeffrey Pipes Guice

My Wonder Years: A Book