Chapter 27

We were raised Catholic, but I don’t think we really ever got the hang of it. Daddy was raised a Baptist, and he basically ignored it. My mother was raised Catholic and abided by all of the rules and regulations, but only until we were all graduated and out of the house. Then that whole charade ended.

We all went to parochial school from first through eighth grade, and then moved over to the public high school. I’d say all four of us kids were pretty close with our classmates because most of us went from first to eighth grade together.

Things I learned in Catholic grade school:
Don’t throw soap balls on the ceiling,
You can’t wear crinolines if you’re a Saint, and
Never lock a nun in a closet.

I had made it to eighth grade without getting in too much trouble with the nuns when I accidentally locked Sister Ortrude in the closet. Really! It was completely an accident. Everyone was getting ready to go outside for recess, and I passed the supply closet. The door was slightly open, and Sister had told us repeatedly to never leave the closet door open as it was full of supplies.

I was the last person to leave the cloak room where we’d all been getting our jackets to go outside, and as I walked by the door I just shut it.

Two seconds later I hear Sister Ortrude screaming, “Who locked me in the closet?! Open this door! Open this door!”

Well, I don’t know about you, but I am not about to let a screaming nun out of a closet. So I went out to recess.

As soon as I got outside I told Jane, my best friend, that I had locked Sister Ortrude in the closet. She got all red in the face and looked like she wanted to hurl. About ten minutes later, Sister Ortrude came running out onto the playground yelling, “Everyone get back in the classroom right now!”

Uh oh.

We all marched into the classroom, and as Sister is following us in she continues to scream, “Take your seats! Take your seats!” Well, she was mighty mad and, as she came through the door, she reached back, grabbed the handle, and slammed the door. Which, unfortunately was almost all glass. It shattered.

Uh oh.

She whirled around and ran back out the door, with her black tail a flyin’. I’m pretty sure there was smoke coming out of her ears.

By now the whole class is talking and asking, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Sister?” (Brer Rabbit she lay low; she don’t say nuttin’.)

Another ten minutes go by and in comes Sister Ortrude with Father Bartholomew in tow. And Father is carrying a yard stick. He proceeded to go up and down the line, pointing that yard stick at each student’s chest and asking, “Did you lock Sister Ortrude in the closet?” Of course, everyone said, “No, Father.” When he got to me, he said, “Cindy, did you lock Sister Ortrude in the closet?” And I said, “No, Father.” (Because, like, who in their right mind would say yes?) Unfortunately, my dear friend Jane, who sat right behind me in class, was already bawling, so when Father said, “Jane, did you lock Sister Ortrude in the closet?” She said, “No, Father. But Cindy did!”

Uh oh.

Now this next part deserves a little back story. My dad was the only plumber in town, and he was not a Catholic, he was a Baptist. When Father had to call a plumber, he called daddy, and I think he didn’t want to alienate him or make the big bad Baptist mad, so instead of whomping me with that yard stick he simply gave me after school detention for a week, and I had to scrub the floor in the Sisters’ lounge every day.

Here’s the best part of this story: Father also gave Jane detention, and she had to help me scrub the floor because she was not loyal to her friend.

Go figure.