Thursday, October 24, 2013

Finally, the Reason for Omaha


On January 1, 1960, I made first vows at Mount Saint Scholastica Convent in Atchison, Kansas. During the three-year scholasticate, the Benedictine community would determine whether I was right for the convent while I considered whether the life was right for me.
         On January 3, Mother Alfred sent me on mission to Omaha, Nebraska. For nearly three months, I’ve posted weekly stories about Omaha. Unless you are a new reader to this blog, you know that I spent five months in an unruly classroom of fifty-five seventh-graders. One student threw a knife at me as I was writing on the chalkboard. The blade barely missed my hand.
            The students themselves weren’t safe. When the girls passed out class work, the boys jabbed their behinds with compasses. The girls yelped as they reeled down each aisle, trying to avoid the compass points.
         But in early June 1960 that was all in the past. I’d come home to the convent, determined to leave.


         By tradition, the Mount nuns went on retreat in early June after all of them had returned from their missions in Nebraska, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, and Colorado. During that retreat I thought long and hard about my decision. I knew I couldn’t emotionally—or physically—handle another year like the one I’d just experienced. I’d lost fifteen pounds in Omaha and now weighed 103 pounds. My face my gaunt; my hipbones prominent.
         After the retreat I knocked on the Scholastic Mistress’s office door. When Sister Sweteberta, a tall, thin, elderly woman of grave disposition, bade me enter, I walked across to where she was seated and knelt down. She was the one who would talk to Mother Alfred about my decision.
         “Sister Sweteberta, I’ve decided to leave the convent,” I said, getting right to the point.
         “And why is that?” she said.
         “I can’t teach.”
         “And how do you know that?”
         “I was in an Omaha classroom for the past five months and it was just too hard.” My words were coming faster now. “I can’t do that again. I just can’t.”
         She gazed at me. Kindly, I thought. And so I added. “I made a mess of the whole thing. The children hated me. And I didn’t like myself. I just can’t do that again. I can’t. I’m not a teacher.”


         She gazed down at me and then spoke, her words soft, but clear. “Sister Innocence, Mother Alfred knew what she was asking of you. She knew how hard it would be. And you came through with flying colors. You’re a born teacher.”
         “But why did she put me there if she knew it was so hard?” I was now on the verge of tears. “I’d never taught before. I knew nothing!”
         “That’s just it,” she said. “If you had taught before you’d have known the situation was impossible. But you hadn’t. So you thought you could do it. . . . And you did.”
         “But why did Mother Alfred think I could do it? Why?”
         Smiling, she said what was apparently so obvious: “Because you’d been student body president in the college.”
         As I sit here at the computer today I can remember so clearly what flashed in my mind: Nonsense. This is pure nonsense. This is a perfect example of a non sequitur. I’m kneeling in cloud-cuckoo-land.        
         I suppose the puzzlement on my face prompted her next words. “Believe me, Sister Innocence, your next classroom won’t be like that. You’ll probably never have a classroom like that again.”        
         And how did I respond to these inanities? Passively.
         I thought my superiors knew better than I what was best for me, and so I left her with the assurance that I would stay. Sad, isn’t it?
                   

46 comments:

  1. at this point, i don't see it as sad. I think you were triumphant and didn't know it. This woman in a position of authority just promised you that the next class wouldn't be filled with alligators and crocodiles. If I had been in your shoes, I would have believed her too! Sadder was the thought that you were going to leave there convinced that you could not teach.

    Mimi

    Mimi's Watercolors

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    1. Dear Mimi, you've really given me something to think about. Thank you. Peace.

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  2. MimiTabby said it beautifully for me!!

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    1. Dear Fishducky, she surely has me reconsidering. Peace.

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  3. LMAO well you know cuckoo land can be fun hahaha interesting reasoning and hey it worked

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    1. Dear Pat, you're right, cuckoo land can be fun, but I'd like to be able to choose it! Peace.

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  4. Since I too believe you are a born teacher, because you are a caring person, a smart woman, a woman who went back to school to learn black speech, this was not sad. I think it was necessary, which sometimes can be painful, but definitely from my point of view, not sad.

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    1. Dear Inger, the opinions expressed by you and Mimi and Fishducky are causing me pause. Thank you. Peace.

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  5. Accepting authority over yourself, and the right (obligation) to make your own decisions seems to have come as slowly to you as it did to me.
    Just the same, Sister Sweteberta was right. You are a teacher. It is an integral part of you.

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    1. Dear EC, yes, very slowly. It wasn't until I was in my late 40s, early 50s that I began to trust my own intuitions. And I really only claimed them when I was in my 70s. Peace.

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  6. I'm simply amazed how much baggage those in authority pile on those passing by.

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    1. Dear Joanne, it's true, and I found the load hard. Ultimately, of course, I did leave because I got worn down. Peace.

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  7. I do believe you did succeed given the students you had to deal with. Not many in your shoes would have been around after that knife incident. I use to think being a teacher would be a good occupation. Your story convinced me I could never have stuck in like you did. And when you see the violence in schools today by middle-schoolers, mercy.

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    1. Dear Arkansas Patti, today's violence is so much more vicious and divisive and life threatening then it was back in the 60s in Omaha. I had it easy compared to what many teachers have to endure today. And so many students today go to sorry in terror every day for fear of the bullying they meet there. It's a national tragedy. Peace.

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  8. "I thought my superiors knew better than I what was best for me,"

    Pretty typical of the time. I think you did an amazing job with what you were given. And even still, not many would have lasted the year.

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    1. Dear Michelle, I suppose it was typical of the times, but I truly was immature. When I saw my first psychiatrist after leaving the convent, he told me that I'd stopped growing emotionally about age 13--I was 31 at the time. I know what happened about that time in my young life and what went before that. It takes so much work to mature. Maybe it's the work of a lifetime, but I was a slow starter. Peace.

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  9. Yes, it is true, that if we had known how hard some things would be, we may have turned aside. After trial by fire, you were ready for anything.

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    1. Dear Susan, I'm thinking of posting next week a lighthearted episode of that 1960 summer that shows I wasn't ready for something! Peace.

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  10. It's sad that the powers that be didn't really listen to you, but you were and are a good teacher. I'm sure many students remember you with gratitude.

    Love,
    Janie

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    1. Dear Janie, I hope so. I surely remember many of them with gratitude and fondness. And I remember with great gratitude many of the teachers who blessed my life. Peace.

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  11. Hi, Dee! Here I am, again!
    My new goal is, blogging by November. It has been awhile since I have read one of your wonderful posts.
    I believe you are the woman you are today, because of the woman you were in those early convent days, and the path you have followed was carved out for you before you were even born.
    Sad? Yes. But maybe, right now, there is a wise man, talking to his friends - or writing on his blog - about his seventh grade teacher who taught him about courage, the day he threw a knife at her.
    Be gentle on yourself, Dee.
    Patricia

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  12. Dear Patricia, what a surprise to receive a comment from you. I'm so glad that you plan on blogging again. That's something for me to look forward to. And thank you so much for your "take" on all this and for the perspective you lend to it. Peace.

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  13. You were so young - you must have felt so alone.

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    1. Dear Annie, I did feel alone because none of us really talked about our "vocation" and I assumed that everyone else really felt that the convent was right for them. I also thought that anyone else could have handled that classroom. I thought that clear up to the time of this posting. Peace.

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  14. Being thrown into the fire hurts, but we learn so much when we have been tested. On the other hand, Generals sit in their plush offices as privates go to war. We have to ask ourselves if the battle was worth the lesson learned.

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    1. Dear Arleen, that is THE question to ask. I wonder which generals in our armies today ask those questions. Surely some of them do. Surely. Peace.

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  15. Dee, back then we were all brought up to accept authority and the wisdom and experience of our elders, whether inside the convent or in the world outside. I'd have been surprised if you'd done anything else at your age and in your circumstances. And your superior was certainly right in saying that you are a born teacher.

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    1. Dear Perpetua, many years passed before I could accept that I was a gifted teacher. In fact, I was in my forties and teaching professional editing to college students when I realized that I was a born teacher. A few years after I retired from teaching in college--I"d only done it part time for 10 years--I visited a psychic who know nothing about me and who said, "You know you are a born teacher." Then I told her I'd retired from teaching and she said, "You'll never stop teaching. It's like breathing for you." So here I am writing these postings and I guess we could say that they teach people about something or other. But then I think all blogs do that. We gift one another. Peace.

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  16. Hi Dee – We just came back home after almost a month of traveling. I am starting to read all the blogs I missed and enjoyed reading all your back posts – what a difficult time you had in your school. As I think I told you before schools in France are so different than schools here – I have never heard of French kids doing the kind of things you described – discipline in my school was very strict and rigid, and we had to study a lot more than the kids do here with much home work and constant tests. In primary school I was in school from 8:30 am to 6:00 pm. (When I went to school in England I found it a lot more fun and easier too.) In France two foreign languages and one year of philosophy were mandatory in high school, on top of everything else. If American kids go to France to study they usually are placed 2 years behind the rest of the others because they cannot follow the classes, it’s too difficult for them. I started teaching my daughters the French way and so they ended being classed as “gifted” and I took them to the University of Georgia for additional classes on Saturdays and they were only in primary school… so then they finished their 2 last years of high school while attending the first 2 years of college, simultaneously.
    Schools here are quite easy I think and teachers are pleasant. In France being a teacher is a very highly regarded profession – and has nothing to do with salary – a rich businessman may not be as highly regarded as a teacher (in France that is, here money is more important usually.) You certainly had a strong character to go ahead with the recommendations of the sister and stay teaching in that horrible environment. Thanks for coming to my blog while I was away. I wrote the name of the mystery writer you recommended and saw that the book is at my local library.

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    1. Dear Vagabonde, I found all you've explained about French schooling to be fascinating. Truly it is so different from here in the states and I can see why US students would be two years behind when they attend French schools. I suspect your daughters are as urbane as you are. And as civilized. I do think we live in an age here in the states when civility has disappeared.

      Yes, money is more important here and there are many people who mistrust the educated. If we valued teaching here in the US, we'd pay teachers more. And if we truly valued our young children, we provide really outstanding day care and pay the day care providers what they should be paid for the important work they do. Well, I'll get down off my soapbox and cease my ranting! Peace.

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  17. It's so easy to look back now and be critical of our younger selves, but important to remember that bowing to authority was the norm then, especially for those of us used to Catholic schools. And I can so envision you being a wonderful teacher and not realizing it at the time. That's so amazing you made it through the year!

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    1. Dear Kathy, those five months felt like real drudgery to me, but I still felt drawn to the Divine Office--to praying every day in community. It's true that most of us did bow to authority, Kathy, but it's also true that I was really immature for my age. A psychiatrist whom I saw after leaving the convent told me that I was emotionally about 13. At the time I left, I was 30! Peace.

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  18. Sometimes, people lose confidence even they are capable in doing such things..Hope that you can still maintain your focus and confidence in the vocation you choose..God bless!

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    1. Dear Cutella, thanks so much for stopping by to visit my blog. I'll get back to yours this weekend. And yes, I did lose all confidence. Peace.

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  19. It must be good?validating? not sure of the word, but, looking back on such situations is so different than living through them, isn't it Dee? For all the ills of education, at least public education, which is what I'm most familiar with, I think that on the whole teachers have more support systems in place than they did mid-century. You did get through it, by shear will power and determination, and I applaud you for that. As I read the comments and your response, we can definitely agree that you are a born teacher. This series has been an eye-opening, Dee. Thank you.

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    1. Dear Penny, I realized back in my late forties/early fifties that I was being able to look back on life and see that all had worked out to good. And I think that Omaha classroom experience is the same. Good did come out of it.

      It's the same with Meniere's Disease. I'd never want to live again those 18 months--when it was intractable and progressive. But I don't regret those months because I did learn so much about myself and about how I try to control my life when there's really little I can control except for the way I respond to people and places and events--to experiences. Peace.

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  20. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, Dee. We make the choices we make: It is so often not until later that we can make sense of them within the framework of our lives. And when we are at that later stage, the temptation is to polarise them. For our Father would have given you tiny victories, even in the midst of all that terror.
    I think you did an amazing thing to stay that long.

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    1. Dear Kate, what you say is so true. Amidst the terror there were tiny victories--the smile of a student who'd just realized something for example. And also, I enjoyed life on mission. And always I found prayer centering. Much good did come out of those five months. Peace.

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  21. You succeeded despite them. You learned that if you were tossed into the middle of crazy you could survive--even if it was only by the skin of your teeth. When we are truly tested we discover who we are. You left with your compassion and empathy still in your back pocket. That is something! :)

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    1. Dear Rita, thanks for the vote of confidence. My posting this week is a light-hearted one about sewing the summer after the Omaha debacle. Then on the first Thursday of November, I'll post my last story about Omaha. Thanks so much for having the time and expending the energy to read these postings. I appreciate the effort all that must take. Peace.

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  22. If you stayed 5 months you won. Am I missing something? What difference did it make if you were student body president? But you stayed because you realy wanted to teach and up to this point it didn't appear you had a chance to teach.

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    1. Dear Manzanita, you didn't miss anything. The fact that when I was a senior at the Mount college I had been the student body president must have said something---I not sure what!!!!!--to the Mother Superior. Because of that, she thought I could handle the class. In my mind that's just silly. I think so now, just as I thought so then. Peace.

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  23. We are all teachers, just as we are all learning all the time, formally or not. And whether or not you knew it at the time, you were bound to be one of the most effective teachers out there because you actually cared for these children and took your mission seriously. I don't necessarily agree with the Mother Superior's reasoning, but I suspect they knew that you would work hard to stick to your own values and make a difference for anyone you taught.

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    1. Dear Kari, thank you for thinking such kind thoughts about Mother Alfred. At the time, I was deeply annoyed with her! Peace.

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  24. Dear Dee. You are a wonderful teacher. Had this not been so, you never would have made it a week in that tremendously complex and painful classroom. You had a teaching instinct that gave you a measure of compassion for those children and you wanted them to learn. You used very creative ways to at least give those children something they couldn't get from anyone else. That you didn't leave the convent at that time doesn't surprise me. As others have also pointed out, at the time and with your young age, it would have seemed impossible to stand up to your superiors when basically they were telling you you'd been successful. I don't think at that time people ever really spoke about whether or not you were supposed to be happy in what you did. Life satisfaction wasn't measured in the same ways we look at our circumstances today. I'm so glad you eventually did "figure out" what a gifted teacher you are! Debra

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  25. Dear Debra, I think you've pinpointed the culture of the time really well. My problem for most of my life was that I thought I was the ugly duckling among all the geese. Peace.

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