Three Views of Catholic School
By S. Reynolds

The scared first grade me says:

It’s so hot out here! We have to stay in these lines—one arm’s-length apart. I hope my arm is the right length. I don’t know the words to this song. I know it’s about America. I know the first part. O say can you see. I don’t think anyone knows the words. I can’t understand what they are singing, something about bottles in the air. We get to play after this, and I’m afraid of the schoolyard. I don’t know about their games either. Mrs. Brumba said we can’t talk during flag salute, even if we raised our hand. She said the only time we could talk was when we found a revolver, or something sharp and I don’t know what a revolver is. Everyone else must know because no one asked about it, so it must be something everyone knows, like this song.

Hey what’s that on the ground?

It’s big with a bright blue bulb on the end, and, … it’s sharp, just like she said! Maybe she put it there as a test. The blacktop is so hot and now I have it in my hand. She’s looking at me and now I can talk, because that’s what she said.

“Mrs. Brumba Mrs. Brumba,” she looks really mad and she’s almost running at me. She’ll be really happy because I found this sharp thing and maybe she’ll give me something, or be proud of me because someone in her class found something sharp.

Maybe someone else will find a revolver

Now she’s grabbing this long sharp thing from me and she’s really, really mad. Ouch! She stuck it right in my forehead, but I know she didn’t mean it. It was just the way she grabbed it and now I’m glad, because she’s not mad anymore. She’s really nice, because she thinks she hurt me, and even though I think I’m bleeding, it doesn’t really hurt. It happened so fast. She has her arms around me now, and she is calling me sweetie. She’s saying she is sorry.

I wonder if I’ll find a revolver?

The Adult me says,

I attended first grade at the same Catholic school as my three brothers and two sisters before me. I hadn’t gone to pre-school and that was my first experience away from home …away from my mother. I had a lay person, Mrs. Brumba, as my first grade teacher, not a Nun, like mean old, Sister Mary Rose of the Cross, which was probably for the best since my brothers, especially Tim, were considered trouble makers (authors note: Tim is now the VP of Technicolor.) The Reynolds’ family reputation was—In a parochial school sense—tainted by wanton acts of originality, like (Oh my God) joking around. In the first grade I knew nothing of appropriate social interaction, (and just look at me now) so many of my early weeks in room 103 were spent in the corner by the heater, (not such a bad place on winter mornings) because of my loquacious outbursts.

One day, Brumba told us that at flag salute (and mind you this warning was intentionally directed at me) we were never to speak, under no circumstances, (a pure challenge) unless we were to find, A.) a revolver or, B.) something sharp. Well, what the hell does “revolver” mean to a six year old? You could say a six-shooter, or a handgun even, but a revolver? It sounded like some sort of top, or one of those glass doors at the department store, but that’s as far as I could imagine. None of the other kids questioned this object, so neither did I, but a sharp object, yes I would be on the lookout for that.

And, lo and behold, on a hot Spring morning, there at my feet, lay the largest hat pin you ever saw.

I mean this thing looked huge, and very, very sharp. I believe, at the time, they were singing “And the bombs bursting in air,” which I thought sounded more like, “bottles in the air,” so that’s how I belted it out. But, in mid-verse, I waved and shouted, “Mrs. Brumba, Mrs. Brumba” and boy did she notice. She came at me like a hurricane, and grabbed the outstretched prize so fast and abruptly that she jammed it right into my tiny six year-old forehead.

She was far more stunned than I was.

Instantly her rage turned to sympathy, which, after all, was what I was looking for I think. She quickly spirited me away to the nurse’s office, where, for once, because of the attention, I had no desire to talk. Instead of the usual corner-heater sentence, I was treated to a sucker.

… and now to find that revolver.

Mrs Brumba Thinks:

They warned me about those Reynolds kids. This one is a piece of work. He is a precious little thing, but he can’t shut the hell up. What are they feeding this kid? I think he spends more time by that heater than little Ann Lawler … always wetting her panties. Can’t that girl ever get to bathroom on time?

Rose of the Cross says that she wants to make sure none of these little brats spoil flag salute. Why is a woman of the Lord such a bitch? They’re just kids for God’s sake, anyway Reynolds is going to be trouble, so I’ll tell all of them to keep it quiet unless they have a good reason. A real good reason, something they understand, comic book stuff, or something like finding a gun or a knife. Better keep it polite say, something sharp or a revolver. That’ll keep them in line. Still don’t know about the Reynolds kid.

Okay they’re being good, and old “Iron Cross” looks happy enough. Oh no what the hell is that idiot doing ? What has he got in his hand? “Hey you little… give me that…Oh ! Oh! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry sweetie, you’re bleeding. Come on lets get you to the nurse.” Oh God what is she thinking now? Rose of the Cross will have my ass for this. Poor little guy. He’s taking it well, but I sure hope he never finds a revolver.