Recollections of a Catholic School Girl

Once a Catholic school girl, always a Catholic school girl. On second thought, Madonna was a Catholic school girl, so maybe I should take that back. Well, it holds true for me anyway. Catholic school in the 60's-70's was definitely different from my parent's generation. We still had plenty of nuns to teach us, classrooms were full, and discipline was the rule. The Sister's habits got shorter over the years then disappeared altogether. Most of ours were fairly young (I'm now realizing just how young) and good natured. No horror stories of ruler bruised knuckles just one completely humiliating memory of having to stand face to face with the blackboard for forgetting my religion homework. I pretended I was reading what was written on the board and studying the intricate details of the nearby phonograph. Even though she sentenced me to my first and probably only punishment, I completely idolized my second grade teacher Sr. Laurent. At 8years old I was convinced that convent life was in my future. I'm sure my parents were very proud...seriously.

Sister's were our role models outside of our family. Their lives of sacrifice and faith, modesty and dedication were modeled for us daily. But, the times, they were a changin'. The lives they led must have appeared so antiquated and irrelevant to most of society. And maybe eventually to them. Women had more options in the world. One by one, we lost them. To what, we didn't always know, it wasn't discussed. Can you imagine? People's private lives being private?! Maybe we were just protected from the realities of life. You did that back then, protect your children from scandal, heartache, the harshness of life. Hey this was the late 60's after all, in Chicago no less. (We had no idea at the time about the war or that Uncle Bob was cracking skulls of hippie protesters on the streets of Chicago. Now that I know, I'm rather proud of him.)

Our priests were respected. Having one in the family was an honor. To us, he was just Uncle "B", but he was special. I was always proud to reveal to the Sister's in particular that my uncle was the pastor at St. Patricia's. Still, it didn't get me out of doing my religion homework. Report card day had particular gravitas since the pastor was the bearer of the good/bad news. He would go into every class and hand out every report card. Fr. McCarthy did it gravely but mercifully, swiftly. On the other hand during Fr. Crawford's tenure it was agony since he ALWAYS opened it first. He would smack you (lovingly) on the head with it if it wasn't up to par. From this we learned good old fashioned accountability. Not only did we need to make good for our parents, but also for our community. Each time the priest would enter our classroom we would all stand and in unison say, "good morning Fr. McCarthy". Respect was a daily lesson, not something splased across a glossy poster, decorating a drab hallway. Weird tho it sounds now but Halloween night just wouldn't have been complete till we made the rounds of the convent and rectory while still in full costume.

Sure it got boring wearing that same plaid skirt and green sweater year after year, but in the first few years it was a bit of a thrill to dress for Friday mass in my little green bolero jacket, plaid snap tie, and MATCHING PLAID TAM! Oh yes, we were a sight to behold! As Vatican II changes filtered down and formalities relaxed, we lost the tams (darn!). However, on Sundays I'd have to hunt down my round lace doiley and attempt to firmly secure it to my cowlickly little head by the always elusive bobby pin. It wasn't a fashion statement, it was a statement of dignity and humility, and dare I say, modesty. Remember modesty? Think of that little lace doily next time you are sitting behind a female at mass who's camisole "top" can't reach the top of her low rise pants.


Catholic school was always a given in our household even though the presence of that little brown tuition envelope struck terror in the heart of my parents. I am grateful for the sacrifices that they made to keep us there. And so, I have tried to do the same for my kids. Yes, the times are still a changin'. The nuns are gone, and the schools struggle with enrollment, the challenge of paying the salaries of lay teachers, and the costs of keeping up with technology etc. etc. I've spent enough time in the classroom working with the kids to know that that little concept of respect is often hard to find. Alot of those vintage cultural aspects of Catholic schools are gone. Hopefully the important things remain especially the fostering of a lifelong love for Christ and his Church ...not just those groovy plaid skirts.

For some amazing photos and video from the Chicago History Museum's current exhibit: Catholic Chicago go to http://www.chicagohistory.org/Growing up Catholic in Chicago

Happy Father's Day Dad. From your daughter who likes to remember the old days.

I am often guilty of romanticizing the past and pining for days gone by. My parents must have done an awfully good job of making life carefree for us kids because I never felt that their lives were a chore or that raising four kids was any great hardship. Even tho....in the early days dad worked two jobs, the nine to five grind with long commute to the city at Bell Federal (remember the big lighted bell sign on the corner?!) and a night/weekend gig as a banquet waiter at the old McCormick Place. We had one car and a small new house in the south 'burbs. Mom would drive us to the station where we'd sit in the un airconditioned car and wait for dad's train to pull in. We'd spend the time listening to the radio (classic crooners, none of that hippie stuff) and try to spy dad coming off the train. Years later his trek home was to walk from work to the train, then grab a bus that would drop him off at the end of our street. We loved to stand in the living room window to see who would be the first to spy dad coming down the block. Even when he would be walking home in the dark, we would strain to catch a glimpse of him in suit, tie, pocket square, and hat, carrying the daily paper. I don't recall him ever being tired or grumpy. He would hand off the Chicago Daily News which he read on the train but save the "funnies" to read to his girls. If it was Friday he inevitably quizzed us at dinner, "guess what I had for lunch today?" To which we would all reply, "a stein of beer, a bowl of clam chowder soup, and a fish sandwich!" Either all Fridays were still meatless back then or Dad observed the tradition regardless.

Our house was modest, our vacations simple, our priorities were straight. Faith and family. Love and kindness. Dad didn't amass a great bank account or a cushy retirement. He gave all he made to provide for his family. He loved his wife, I especially thank him for that.