A Slap in the Face!

I believe everyone has a moment in their life when everything changes. It is the point that separates life into before and after.

For me it was the second year of fourth grade!

I had already graduated from 4th grade when the school I was attending, located in the state college, closed. It was a teacher’s training system and the entire program (1st through 12th grade) was ended. It was decided that all college student’s practice teaching could be done in the state’s regular school system.

All 250 students that attended that school were officially reassigned to their regular school district. Most were absorbed by the Valley City School Systems. Unfortunately, we lived in a border location which meant we would have to attend a one room school near our farm. (For those of you that grew up watching Little House on the Prairie, you may think this would be an ideal result. But the reality was one teacher, teaching 8 grades to 35 students of various abilities and desires. And because I had attended four years of school in the “real school” I was far ahead of my peers. Meaning I was sent out to play a lot.)

The only alternative to this was attending the private Catholic school in Valley City. Our entire family had attended it once before, but had to leave because of finances. But given the choice of scraping together the money or watching me spend the year in the sandbox, we reapplied to St. Kates.

After pledging to pay the tuition, we were allowed to attend the school, unfortunately there was a problem. The 5th grade class I was to join was overcrowded, so I was temporarily placed back with my younger brother in 4th grade. I was to be moved upstairs when room was available.

I still knew all my old classmates, so it seemed strange to watch them go to the new room without me.

I was introduced to my new fourth grade classmates and because I was older and bigger than most, some taunting began. Every group had a social order and I fought my way in, through fist fights, name calling and shunning. And, because the curriculum was a repeat of what I had already learned I tuned out.

Every recess I would go to my fifth grade friends and play with them. Every lunch time I would grab my tray and slide in with them. It only made sense, because I would soon be one of them again.

After a few weeks’ time, the situation hadn’t changed. I was still stuck in my brother’s class and I was becoming a problem. I began acting out and was subjected to discipline i.e. scolding’s, raps on the head, rulers strikes on knuckles, sitting in the corner and my personal favorite “kneeling in prayer”.

After nearly a month, I heard one of the fifth graders was transferring out to the public schools while at lunchtime.

I was overjoyed! I was so excited that I ran up to Sister Monica (the Fifth Grade Nun) and said I was so happy I would finally get to rejoin my friends. I was literally jumping up and down in front of her.

Without hesitation she slapped me across the face and announced to the room that I would never be part of the class again. She walked away leaving me sobbing on the floor. Thank heaven for the lunch room ladies who picked me up and sat me in the corner.

I learned hate that day and it consumed me. My grades fell along with my self-confidence.

My parents never understood what happened to me. They only knew that the nuns had tried their best to get me into their school and it didn’t quite work out. Small sacrifices had to be made.

Over 50 years later, I still feel that nun’s slap in my face.

3 thoughts on “A Slap in the Face!

  1. Oh my, what a terrible thing to squash a child’s hopes so cruelly. I am sorry for you that you had to go through that. I went to a Convent and the nuns were really nice though firm. We had nicknames for each of them and some were really really sweet. Maybe it is something about catholic schools because everytime I met someone who went to a catholic school they had a terrible story to share. In India I think it was a mix of catholic and protestants we had as nuns

  2. My slapping nun was Sister Mary Albertus. I don’t remember the pain as much as I remember WHY she hit me. I feel your pain brother

  3. I went to a rural school (grades 1-6) where there were 3 teachers, 2 grades to each teacher. I remember to this day when a new boy, who’d been put in third grade across the landing, was brought over, forcibly, clinging to his desk as if his life depended on it (and maybe it did).

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