The ritual post-Thanksgiving writing exercise required that Sister Linda’s third grade class detail the holiday events.
(Nice nuns from the film “The Sound of Music”)
I suppose there are some teachers out there who realize that, in the throes of their venomous behavior, there might be a student or two who might grow up to write about them. I do not think this occurred to Miss C, who was my grammar and junior high school instructor.
(St. Francis Xavier church, home of my first confession)
Father Guetzloe ushered five of us into his tiny little room where his gowns and sacred chalice were kept. We lined up and waited our turn, although I did not know what we were doing. Perhaps there was instruction that I missed, which was entirely possible since I spent many days in first grade just concentrating on the blinds that covered our giant classroom windows.
Somewhere between Dublin and Tokyo, Morning Star School in San Francisco began beating its own cultural drum.