Time Will Tell...The girls go to Catholic School

The girls eagerly anticipated the first day of fourth grade.  Ink pens, ink cartridges, pencils, crayons, zippered pencil case were checked and double checked and placed in the standard issue green canvas book bag.  This was the first year for school uniforms chosen by a committee of nuns.  Of course they were shapeless, royal blue jumpers with a white blouse.  Mother made the uniforms from a pattern that had been provided.  There is not uniform shade of royal blue.  The homemade ones clearly stood out from the purchased.  "Homemade was OK if some one had to ask in a surprised voice, "Is that home made?"  No one wanted their clothes to shout "HOME MADE."

This was the first year the girls were in separate classes.  The biggest bulge of the baby boomer population plus the closing of the country schools contributed to this fact.   The older twin had the newest teacher, Miss J.  Miss J, a real person, not a nun.  Curiously, the first and fourth grades were combined into one classroom so that the younger twin shared a classroom with little sister.  Now all the girls went to Catholic School.

  She was young,  red headed and freckle faced.  Miss J was not a nun although it was rumored that she had tried out the convent and inexplicably  left. Miss J was known as a Lay teacher in Catholic school parlance.  Two Lay teachers held positions at the Catholic School.  The balance of faculty lived a secretive life across the street in a convent.  Students were not allowed to enter.  Miss J lived in a house just down the street with her widowed mother.   On the first day she was lively and sparkly eyed,  engaging all of us in her aura of likability.   We joined  the Miss J fan club en mass and whole heartily.  Later, a cloudiness passed over her features.  A few classmates became targets of ridicule.  Mercilessly she embarrassed a classmate with spina bifida about an accident in her diaper.  Even fourth graders saw the injustice of this.   On one particular occasion her lesson seemed to escape the pupils understanding.  Raising a heavy Merriam Dictionary over each head, a jarring bop was delivered to each pupils head.  Then the clouds would lift and joy would return to the classroom of Miss J.

Sister and Miss J traded classrooms to teach social studies/geography and religion.  In fourth grade, states and capitals were memorized.  The girls were built in study partners and quizzed and challenged each other.  Even little sister could recite the capital of New York, Florida, Wisconsin, etc.  The girls aced the test.  The next topic was time zones.  The students were made to understand that just because it is 11 am here in Michigan, somewhere people are still asleep.  Father was at the dinner table while the girls studied for the test on time zones the next day.  "Let me see what you are studying."  Father knew Miss J from childhood.  There was some angst between them, sensed by the girls but never explained.  "That is all wrong," he pronounced.  It was completely backwards and Father proceeded to prove it.  The following morning the girls confidently took the exam.  If it was 6 am in Seattle, what time was it in Buffalo?
Smiling, Miss J praised the class for doing so well on the test and continued to smile a cold snake eyed smile when the oldest twin was handed a paper marked with an "F".  The other twin in turn received the same.  Crushed,  the girls returned home to Father.  Thunder struck and staring at the papers, the dining chair scraped loudly on the floor as he jumped up, looked up a phone number and dialed.   When Miss J answered, Father called her by her first name and said, "If it is 6 pm in Boston, what time is it in Seattle?"  Of course, she gave the wrong answer and Father proceeded to instruct until Miss J had to admit that she was undeniably wrong.  All the sisters sitting at the table giggled and cheered Fathers bold action in setting the world in proper order.
In class, Miss J had to admit the error and give the proper instruction.  The girls grinned with satisfaction at her discomfort.  The rest of the year, Miss J, smiling or not kept cold snake eyes for the girls.  The twins just smiled back.

MANY WERE CALLED...most were chosen. The girls go to Catholic School

Kyrie Eleison

(Lord Have Mercy) 

This is what the girls imagined they would sound like when Sister announced tryouts for the new Children's Choir.   The hopefuls were all girls.  The boys got to be alter servers.  http://youtu.be/8yXJ0MDTI4Q

Sister had announced that each hopeful would stand next to the organ and without accompaniment sing one line of the "Kyrie."   This was not good news.  Why not "Holy God We Praise Thy Name" or "Holy, Holy, Holy"  If it had to be Latin,  how about   "Agnus Dei."  Being Catholic was never a simple matter.
  Attending a summer Bible School with cousins, the girls belted out  songs like, "Jesus Loves Me, This I Know" and "This Little Light of Mine" with gusto.   At home, the girls knew better than to ask their tone deaf mother for help. Father had no patience or saw no promise.  The girls were uncertain as they sang in quavering voices to each other.  Little sister covered her ears and made faces. This was not a good sign but also unreliable.
 Unassuming and gentle, Sister Annine poked her head into Sister Lorenzo's class.  "Raise your hand if you wish to be considered for the choir.  OK, follow me."  Two by two, the hopefuls paraded out the side door of school in silence, strictly enforced by all nuns, even the kinder ones.  Climbing the front steps of church, Sister held the large heavy oak door.  Hearts were pounding as the girls climbed the narrow staircase leading to the loft and organ.

The church was completely empty and as vast as the Grand Canyon.  Footsteps echoed.  Whispers sounded like shouts.  The group gathered around Sister who asked cheerily, "Who will be first."  The girls took a couple of steps back and obscured themselves in the crowd.  Being two of the three smallest children in the class made this a simple effort. Eagerly the confident ones waved their hands, jumping up and  down.  Their clear voices echoed in the empty church like angel's anthems.  Sister smiled approvingly.
Agonizingly, one by one, the group got smaller and smaller for each hopeful was dismissed back to class after auditioning.  At last, only the twins remained.  Haltingly, the older twin approached the side of the organ.  A memory sprung to mind.  Sitting on the back steps with grandma, snapping beans, she started to sing. Grandma made a face and turned to inform,  "You have a terrible voice."   "Lord have Mercy," became her fervent prayer as she opened her mouth, filled her lungs and croaked the most God awful sound a person could imagine coming from a child.  "Ky" up and down the register with every flat and sharp note imaginable and unimaginable, "rie" more of the same and on it until the last "son."  You would have to give it to her for heart if nothing else.  Sister had a smile plastered on her face, "OK, thank you.  Return to class.  She was not so hopeful now and wondered how her sister was doing.
That afternoon, Sister poked her head into class and asked to speak to three children, the twins and one other.  Was this good or bad?  She was trying as best a nun could, to be kind to the children when she informed them that they would not be in the choir.  This was a crushing blow, staring blankly and exhaling loudly, there would be no tears.  Even in their young minds came the wonder that this choir, formed for God's praise and glory and made up of every 5th grade girl could not absorb three off key singers.   Sing softly, sing loud or in a whisper, God hears you my child, even when you don't make a sound.