Fellow Catholic POW Camp survivors report in here. Tell us about your Catholic school experiences.

St. Mary School, Podunk PA

First Grade with Sister Marian - she wasn't so bad, really.

Second Grade with Sister Huberta - she was the Devil in human form. Along with the obligatory smacking of knuckles with a ruler, she whapped us in the head, slapped our faces, made us copy our textbooks word for word when someone misbehaved, and made us recite The Angelus when the lunch bell rang. Because of this prayer, we were always last in line in the cafeteria, always late with lunch, etc. She was hard core.

Third Grade with Sister Conrad - not as bad as Huberta, but only barely. Lots of paddling, slapping, hitting, etc. I got paddled in front of the entire class for pulling Kerry K.'s seat out from under her when she stood up to read. When she sat back down, WHAM!, she landed on the floor. Bad move on my part, I take full responsibility for my actions.

After third grade, my Irish Catholic parents could no longer afford to send the entire brood (three before me and three more after me) to Catholic school, so all but the oldest transferred to public school.

So, tell us about your years of torture. That is, if your PTSD will allow it.

PS - For those unfamiliar, here is The Angelus. Now imagine having to say this when you are a starving eight year old, and you can hear all the other classes leaving their rooms to go eat.

The Angel of the Lord declared to Mary:
And she conceived of the Holy Spirit.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of
our death. Amen.

Behold the handmaid of the Lord: Be it done unto me according to Thy word.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of
our death. Amen.

And the Word was made Flesh: And dwelt among us.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of
our death. Amen.

Pray for us, O Holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.

Let us pray:

Pour forth, we beseech Thee, O Lord, Thy grace into our hearts; that we, to whom the incarnation of Christ, Thy Son, was made known by the message of an angel, may by His Passion and Cross be brought to the glory of His Resurrection, through the same Christ Our Lord.

Amen.

I was thrown out three weeks later.

Couldn't you memorize the oath, or something? :shrug:

Me and two of my friends were thrown out for messing around with the folding chairs in the lower church.

I was all ready to deal with the draft after that experience.

Second Grade: Sister David Ann
Third Grade: A lay teacher, German immigrant, don't remember her name - I took piano lessons and German lessons from her, both unsuccessfully.
Fourth Grade: Sister Anna Something
Fifth Grade: Mrs Gerth, who, despite her name was tall and thin.
Sixth Grade: Another nun, can't remember her name either.

Seventh Grade through College: Public schools only for this kid!


I don't remember a lot of corporal punishment, but it was definitely a no-nonsense educational environment with Mass every Friday.

I was an average student in Catholic School, but when I left to go to public Junior High in 7th grade, I found I was a year ahead of everyone else. :wow:

Not the prayer itself, but the fact that there even WAS such a thing. Most impressive.

:crazy:

I went to Mass a lot. If you kept your grades up ya got to do funerals and that usually meant a nice tip from the family.

Me too!

because we had to learn the Mass in Latin merely by memorization but we didn't know what the fuck it meant in English. We just knew what to say when the bells rang.

5:00 AM wednesday Mass was just fucking great. Me, Monsignior and one little old lady in the front row. I walked five blocks in the snow for that nonsense.

me and the other altar boy had faked it during mass.

O8)

I went back to college in my 40's and found much of what I had learned in high school was being taught to sophomores and juniors in college!

I learned more history in high school than most people know when they graduate whti a BA now.

But I would never want to go back, nor wish the experience on anyone else.

mark

ADDED: I graduated from a catholic high school in 1965, and they still send me periodic requests for money even though I have not given them a dime since.

Don't make me go back there. :cry:

With therapy, and possibly hard drugs, you can overcome your trauma and begin to lead a productive life. :hug:





:rofl:

Oh Sister Mary Suppositoria.....why must you haunt me? :scared:

You can drink heavily now.

I was standing at the blackboard on the side of the class doing my math problems. One kid at the front of the room was having a hard time figuring out his math problem. Sister grabbed his head and started banging it against the blackboard. Sister started toward me her habit flapping in the wind, said "funny guy huh?" and slapped the crap out of me. It was like it happened yesterday.

Oh, I am left handed and the stories are true.

Kinda makes you wonder if they discussed them in depth when they went back at the convent for the evening.

On the other hand, Sister Adrian Marie was a sweetheart, although much younger then Sister Martha Marie.

Old ladies frittering away their SS checks. Bummer.

I went through 8 years of Catholic grade school and 4 years of Catholic High School. It was a great education, I had wonderful teachers, and made great friends.

My kids are now at a Catholic grade school (different than the one I went to) and we're very happy with it.

Tim

First 8 with nuns. Very strict and no nonsense. Then 4 years with the Jesuits. Also very strict. Good education. I did like the Jesuits better - but not enough to sign on.

Slaps, hits, rulers, derogatory comments...all an everyday experience. Who the hell hits a 1st grader for writing the lowercase letter "e" in a slightly wrong way? Ancient Sister Eleanor that's who. But I got em'. I was so surprised and it hurt so much I got hysterical and it took an entire afternoon to calm me down with the assistance of my older sister. Last time she gave me shit.

Mass every fucking day with the requisite scratchy wool beanie. All the nuns knew what kids had money and what kids didn't. You were treated accordingly.

Angelus? Recess at noon was interrupted every day when the church bell rang and we all stood still and prayed that prayer. We prayed hundred os prayers by the time we were in 2nd grade.

Then there was the 7th grade older teacher who lost her mind one day, and her hair piece. Suffice to say that all day classes moved in and out of her room while she sputtered and yelled incoherently. Of course you can imagine what some of the 7th grade boys did or said to this poor woman. It was bedlam all day long.

I never want to see the inside of a Catholic church again as long as I live.

You see I had a really nightmarish time in chikdhood and I believe its somewhat responsible for the fully enhanced person I am today. Took me a while though.
:(

...in the trail of tears that was my Catholic education:

Fourth Grade: Mrs. Kidd. As likely a candidate for Satan's Little Helper as you're likely to find this side of the Lake of Fire. She was a sadist with, I'm sure, pedophilic tendencies (given the number of her "favorites" who'd spend an inordinate amount of time at her house after school). A pupil was either her "favorite" or essentially something she scraped off her shoe. I was in the latter category. She would regularly paddle us outcasts, share private jokes with the "favorites" at our expense, make us move our desks underneath the coat rack on rain days (an early form of waterboarding), and encourage the other children to bully us, safe in the knowledge they'd be no repercussions if we returned from recess bloody (which several of us regularly did). I had a slight foreign accent when I arrived in her class, which she never failed to mimic, ridicule, and otherwise call attention to, for the manifest amusement of the whole class. That bitch can rot in hell.

Sixth Grade: Father Tony, the school Principal. Jesuit (nuff said). Not only did he possess all the authoritarian qualities of his order, he was also something like a 345th Dan black belt in some shady form of ancient Asian ass-kicking. He'd been a Special Forces killing machine before entering the priesthood, and still seemed to think he was on a mission deep in enemy territory (the enemy being a schoolful of children, ages six to thirteen). Normal infractions of school rules were dealt with by the teachers (usually with a paddle or, in the case of Mrs. Camacho, a nasty twist of the ear), but really bad behavior earned an immediate visit to (and this is completely true) "Room 101." The thrashings Father Tony would dish out were as savage as they were invisible. The man knew how to inflict pain without leaving a bruise. It got to the point where we'd beg our teachers to beat us rather than send us to Father Tony. What a wonderful thing to do to a developing mind: set up a system where the victim begs to be given one kind of torture, so they don't have to endure another.

After sixth grade, I went to a non-religious boarding school and reveled in the "normal" brutality of ordinary children. Nobody got the better of me, because I'd been bullied by the best, and no schoolyard tough guy could hope to match the pain inflicted by a thirty-five year old former paratrooper with anger-management problems.

The other great benefit of my Catholic upbringing was that it got religion out of my head early, before it could take root and fester. I could see early on that these people were twisted, mean, and hypocritical (even before I knew what hypocritical meant). That, my young mind reasoned, must mean their religion is similarly bogus. So out went the baby, complete with its bathwater.

to my twin brother and me on our first day of first grade. she was referring to the school's principal, Sr. Mary, who had been her college piano instructor and had also broken a couple of my mother's fingers by slamming the keyboard cover on them after my mother hit a wrong note in a scale.

My mother also loudly warned Sr. Mary to leave us alone. I have no idea why mom and dad kept up in that school, perhaps because it was the only catholic school in the area.

Some of the other nuns who taught us were nasty in varying degrees. Our first grade teacher hated boys, was sadistic and later was diagnosed with a brain tumor. After the tumor was removed she morphed into a truly wonderful teacher. I met her when I was in my 20's, she was very apologetic about her craziness and lots of fun during her off hours. Most of the other nuns seemed to hate boys in particular and life in general. the exception was our 3rd grade teacher who didn't care much for the girls.

But by fat the scariest one was the principal during 1st grade. she used to select boys at random for punishment and humiliation. she left my brother and I alone though.

My dad said he and his friends used to play "stump the nun." It went like this- if you do A, B, and C that are good but X and Y that are bad will you still go to heaven? The nuns didn't think that was very funny. My dad said he's even more glad he didn't send me to Catholic school since I'm just as much of a smart ass as he is and probably would have been in even more trouble than he was.

We were watching movies from his childhood at my grandmothers house that included my aunts first communion. A particular nun came on screen and my dad and uncle ran out of the house screaming "OH MY GOD IT'S SISTER CLEMENTINE!!!" and wouldn't come back in until that part was over. I said "She looked 70 in that video, I'm pretty sure she's not going to hurt you now." My uncle looked at me with bulging eyes and whispered "Those are the ones that never die." :rofl:

He tried to enroll me, I guess on the theory that if he had to suffer though it so did I.

They wouldn't take me because he'd married a Baptist in a Lutheran ceremony (Mom insisted on an outdoor wedding- on the reasoning that no church in South Lake was prettier than their backyard) which meant they weren't really married, which meant I was illegitimate in the eyes of God, and being a bastard I would be a bad influence on the good Catholic children of Saint Charles Borromeo. The nuns eventually relented and said that if my mother attended conversion classes I could go, but my parents were divorced and Mom was in Hawaii, and I think she told my Dad to do something biologically impossible when he asked. She never could figure out why he'd pay for me to go to Catholic school when he's absolutely terrified of nuns, and authority generally, from his experience in one.

I never thought I'd be so thankful for church stupidity and legalism, or for my mother's attitude problem. I love you, Mom!

I switched back and forth between Catholic and Public Schools depending on family finances.

7th and 8th grade in a Catholic School were BY Far my favorite school years. Total self guided learning program. Did WHATEVER I WANTED for two years. When I got to the public High School I was just fine.