Sister Mean Genes and the Fly

Posted on 28. Sep, 2008 by in Literature

Today, while I was watching some coverage of the presidential candidates, I got the impression that the modern methods, frequently used by the national news media, for dealing with critters that don’t especially agree them should be known by such initials as “bdsm” or “CNN.”

How different from the way adults used to deal with such disagreeables many years ago!

Which, in turn, reminded me of Sister Mary Mean Genes and the fly.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like nuns. I mean, I really do like nuns. The wisdom of age, such as it is, has led me to understand that the good sisters’ way of dealing with annoying critters like myself at St. Joseph Catholic School in Sturgeon Bay many years ago had two motivations:

  1. They really, truly wanted me to learn something, and
  2. They acted in self defense.

Distractions, such as I sometimes (?) caused in the classroom made it difficult for them to teach. When I came full circle and actually had the privilege of working with numerous nuns in my later years, I got to know and enjoy them as real, dedicated people.

But, I digress. Back to my point: How different from the way adults used to deal with such disagreeables many years ago!

Which fact, in turn, reminds me of the good old days in parochial grade school, and inkwells in desks, and girls with braids. Of course, back in the days of which I speak, schools had come to understand the sad fact that having black, liquid ink in inkwells in desks occupied by 10 year old boys wasn’t necessarily a good idea. So inkwells were no longer used for that purpose. But they were still in the desks and were by no means useless (speaking of the inkwells, that is; not the boys).

I mean, an inkwell…what a great place to deposit worn out, chewed gum. Provided Sister Mean Genes didn’t catch a young scamp furtively chewing it first, ruler his hand and call his dad.

Or what a neat place for a towheaded, bored young man to take a long braid of the sweet young lady who sat in front of him, put it in the inkwell and close the trap. When Ms. Pink Cheeked Cutie tried to stand up and her braid was caught in the inkwell, she’d utter an overly loud, calculated shriek of protest. Which, in turn, would quickly bring the sadistic Sister MG and her ruler on the run. Not to punish the girl, of course, but to smack the hand of the exasperating boy directly in back of the innocent young thing (a method that eventually lead to arthritis in ones right hand, many years later, by the way… or so old men sometimes tell me).

Which also, in turn, brought a smug smile to the face of the sweet innocent.

But best of all, that inkwell was a perfect place to store live house flies, skillfully plucked off a desk top by that same mischievous young man. With the boy using his very creative imagination, that same braid served as a perfect source for a fly leash, provided the boy could manage to pluck one of those long hairs out without bringing Sister Mean Genes and her ruler on the sprint.

But if the young scamp was successful the reward was well worth the risk. If you’ve not seen a young man walking around the hallowed halls with a fly buzzing around on a leash, while an appreciative audience of laughing and giggling 10 year old male classmates admired his prowess, you’ve not been truly exposed to the best old parochial school tradition of yesteryear.

Rumor has it, though, that for some mysterious reason that same young man never was able to get a date with that same girl til they were seniors in high school. Hard to fathom, I know. But true.

I also learned, after all that time, that nuns shrank. The redoubtable Patrick McManus once nicknamed one of his parochial school nuns “The Seven Foot Nun.” Well, I once had a second grade nun who was a seven footer. Sister St. Gabrielle was her name. Thirty five years later I again met Sister St. Gabrielle. She had “shrunk” from a gigantic 7′ 0 to mere 5′ 3″! Incredible! Instead of looking way up to chat with her, I had to look down to chat with her.

I just want to reader to know that while Sister Mary Mean Genes at St. Joe’s Catholic School in Sturgeon Bay sometimes seemed to earn her nickname when dealing with such as me, I’m certain that she had a good heart and good intentions and was justified in her actions. Heaven surely has a special place for such as her (I do still wonder what her name really was, though).

And, finally… yes, that boy and that girl are still married to each other. Nearly 50 years later.

p.s. The reader need not ask my wife about my veracity in telling this tale. I’m sure she would just say that I made the whole thing up anyway.

Tags:

Switch to our mobile site