The Return of the Translucent Nun

[ninevirtues]

It's been several years since I thought about this, but recent email prompted me to reconsider it. Here's the story:

I went to catholic junior high school, so naturally we had to take religion class. My seventh grade religion teacher was a nun who'd entered the convent at age 16. She was so old that you could clearly see her veins through her skin, so my private nickname for her was "the translucent nun". She was down to teaching one class per semester, and we were it. My struggles with her were many and varied... let's see.... here are two good ones:

1) She tried to teach us sex ed. (Is it too much to ask that someone who teaches you sex ed should have actually had sex at least once?) According to her, if you are engaged, it is okay if your fiancee kisses you goodnight, but not "that other kind." I was too young, at the time, to understand that much of your education is delivered by people whose idealism is not tempered by real-world experience.

2) The honor card... ah, the honor card. We each got a citizenship grade based on our number of honor points. (Tardiness: One point off. Forgetting your book in class: One point off. Talking: Two points. Et cetera.) In any case, I lost my religion book and managed to hide that sorry fact for several weeks. One of my classmates finally ratted on me (I still do not know which one, but I have my suspicions). So, in a private conference after class, the translucent nun told me she knew I didn't have my book and how many points did I think I should lose?

Now, there is a no-brainer. Naturally, I tried to limit the damage as much as possible. "Five points," I said.

She was disappointed. I was apparently supposed to be brutally honest, transcendently ethical, and highly self critical, and say something like, "Thirty points".... which would have resulted in an immediate F in citizenship.

Although I couldn't put it into words at the time... I think that in that moment, her world (in which young girls are gently reared, sheltered, and expected to develop ladylike behavior and delicate sensibilities) collided abruptly with mine (in which I spent my time scooping horse poop, slinging hay, and trying to survive the family trouble that came looking for me with distressing regularity). I saw that I couldn't enter her world (and frankly, didn't want to). She saw me as a juvenile miscreant. Go figure.