Sister Maxine was nice enough. A frail little thing, she often went shoeless in class. She gave us an assignment to write a poem about our favorite place. I busted mine out in less than five minutes and started distracting my friends from their work by talking to them.
Sr.: Kathy…I suggest you stop talking and finish your school work…
Me: I did it already!
Sr.: (doubtful look) Bring it here for my review please.
I quickly brought her my paper and watched a softness sweep across her stiff face.
That was the moment.
That was the moment I went from being just another insignificant fourth grader to THE fourth grader who wrote poems.
Instantly. Famous.
Sister Maxine enrolled me in the upcoming school talent show and as the big day approached my nerves grew. There were two other kids in my class competing and she had each of us practice in front of the class over and over and over again.
I was nervous, but it was my poem and I knew I could do it.
My practice turn came…
Me: My poem is called, My Dad’s Chair…
My favorite place to be
Is on my Dad’s chair,
Watching tv.
With my cat on my lap,
And my teddy bear,
What fun we have,
Just sitting there.
Sr: Hm-Mm. Try it again.
Me: (did it again)
Sr.: No…with my CAT on my LAP…you need to be more clear…try it again.
Me: (did it again)
Sr.: No…what FUN! we have…FUN!, say it like you’re really having FUN!…try it again.
Me: (did it again.)
Sr.: Still not clear, try it again.
Me: (did it again)
Sr.: (sighs with exasperation) Do you even WANT to be in the talent show.
She completely shook my confidence. My face turned red and I slowly shook my head no.
No because it was no longer my poem.
No because as hard as I tried I would never be able to recite my poem HER way.
No because even though I wrote it myself I could not be trusted to read it myself.
No because if reading my poem in front of the entire school is even half as embarrassing as practicing it in front of the class was then I wanted no part of it.
I think in this case Sister Maxine could have been a little more sensitive about how she dealt with the “sacred cow” that was “me”…probably not wise to criticize and question how a little girl reads her own poem that she wrote about her own Dad…even if she is mumbling a little.
Take THAT Sister.
Reasons I’m No Longer Catholic
1.) Because Ms. Whitley told me my Dad could not be a Saint.
2.) Because Sister Maxine wouldn’t let me read my poem my way and embarrassed me in front of the whole class.