Nun Story #1

The nuns at St Lawrence were from the same order of  nuns that tried to send mom to hell when she was little, but somehow, when she grew up, she forgot about that.

In sixth grade, my teacher was Sister Mary LaSalette (all the nuns had the same first and middle names, "Sister," and "Mary," and different last names, which mostly were another first name.  Like Sister Mary Rose, or Sister Mary Walter.  Until about third grade, I thought they all had wheels instead of feet.

Sister LaSalette had the coolest last name.  LaSalette was a village outside Grenoble, France where, according to the Catholic Church, Jesus' mom, Mary, appeared to two children and told them to "submit,"  or she would be "forced to let fall the arm of her son."  Sister LaSalette was named after the village, or the event, or Our Lady of . . .

Count Your Blessings!

She was special in our family.  She taught my mom in sixth grade, and my mom's two older sisters, Rita and Margaret (they weren't nuns, just aunts, although there was a Sister Mary Margaret . . .), and my two brothers, and me.  Everybody loved Sister LaSalette. 

She encouraged the artist in me.  Under her guidance, I entered a city-wide art contest at Thanksgiving.  I painted a water color of a cornucopia, with the words "Count Your Blessings" at the top.  I won third prize, and my painting was exhibited  in the window of Nicotra's Department Store on Campbell Avenue for a week.

 Hey! Look at me!

Sister LaSalette was also the only nun that ever hit me.  At the time, I thought I deserved it.  I still do.  But nowadays, she'd a probably been arrested . . .

I never told mom, but she found out anyway.  Then she hit me too, and I knew I was going to hell. 

Just as sure as if I'd tapdanced for the Jewish Community Center.