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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 06/26/2016
Sister Mary Gertrude
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesIn our modern politically correct environment, she would be called severely obese.
Back in my day, she wasn’t even called fat, she was called: “pleasantly plump.” It made her smile.
She was almost as round, as she was tall, which was fairly easy to do since she was not quite five feet tall.
It was a matter of little concern to her; If her girth matched her height, it would have made her laugh out loud.
She wore the same close every day. It wasn’t just out of habit, it was a habit.
Black and white, where the colors she wore everyday. It was the only thing she ever saw in black and white.
For her, all concepts had color, depth, and blends of gray. There were no absolutes in her vocabulary, except two:
1) every kid is worthwhile: 2) Love is the first response to anything.
She was fat, drab looking, never married, and had the same job for more than sixty years, how dull does that sound?
She lived with a bunch of other women, all spinsters- and loved it. She was a Cleveland Brown’s Football fan until the day she died.
She walked to work. Never learned to drive. Never had children of her own. Never married. Never once, in her whole life, did she ever get a paycheck. She worked for room and board only. On her only day off, she worked at a Food Kitchen for the morning. I never knew what color her hair was, or if she even had any. She never wore makeup of any kind, and was thrilled by her only “civilian shoes”, bowling shoes. Yep. Bowling shoes with a big circle with her size on the back of the heel: 4. She often wore those shoes on workdays…because she said they made it easier to chase the kids in the playground. She also had roller skates.
Oh, the roller skates. They weren’t technically shoes, so they weren’t against the rules to wear. She wore them to chaperone skating parties. She was a Diva on skates. She could glide, slide, and even jitterbug. Even into her late 80’s, former students would slip on their skates, and join her on the boards. The Bishop frowned, but wisely, looked away when the subject of her bright pink, covered with flowers, skates came up. He also looked the other way when a former student, now a parent, jitterbugged with her on the boards. In fact, he often admired how she could lead without seeming to do so. On skates, she wasn’t fat, round, or squat, she was grace incarnate. She would simply flow, in effortless elegance, swerving and turning, as if she was ice, not wooden wheels. Often the skating rink would empty of skaters so they could stand by the railings and watch her glide by.
When I first met her, I was six years old. When I last took her to dinner, I was forty thee. She was 93. Which means, when I met her, she was fifty years old, and had already been teaching for more than half her life. She was a Nun. A teacher. A Woman. And I believe that is the order she saw herself in. She was already the size I mentioned in the first paragraph. I never noticed, no one ever did. She was simply cuddly to us kids. When we got older, she was a safe, comfortable cuddle. When we became adults, well, one of my classmates said it best: “Sister Mary Gertrude? She was eminently huggable.” Yes…she was.
I did not know I was Autistic until very late in life. (Had I been diagnosed earlier, I would have had been labeled: Asperger’s syndrome -with ADHD, and ADD thrown in to boot!)
Sister Mary Gertrude realized within days - and these were the days when nothing, absolutely nothing was known about Autism, or ADD, or ADHD- that I was “special.” When she knew I could handle it, she kept me in the classroom, but never made me sit in a chair, or at my desk. I was free to stand and wander around. If, however, the class needed to concentrate, well, she put me in the hallway with a bunch of books, pen, and paper. It was the perfect way for me to learn at my pace, and on my own schedule. I had Sister Marry Gertrude for three grades: First, third, and fifth. Each of those school years, with her as my Teacher, were the best years in school I ever had, at any grade level, including- college.
She wasn’t a great singer, unless you count enthusiasm, and not pitch control. She wasn’t a great athlete- except on skates. She was not a beauty in any way, in fact, I think she may have been born with that happy grandmother countenance as a child. She wasn’t super good at math, or any other subject, she was an expert at teaching you those subjects though. She was the greatest listener I ever knew. She didn’t hear what you said out loud, she heard what you were trying to say. Excuses for not doing your homework, to her, meant a glimpse into your imagination, reasoning powers, and on some sad occasions, your home life. No one ever got an “F” for not doing their homework from Sister Mary Gertrude, what they got was a joint venture to see if you understood how to unlock your thinking. She never moved a kid up a grade, who couldn’t function at that next grade level. Sometimes, that took an extra year. No one who ever got held back by Sister Mary Gertrude blamed her, or regretted that second year. Why? Because that second year, she had a handle on how to work with you, and you never, ever, were held back again. In fact, she once proudly proclaimed that every kid she ever held back a year, ended up graduation from college.
I asked her one time, when I took her and my old principal out for lunch one day ( I was home on leave from the Army) if it was true that all those “failures” finished college?
“Oh, Kevin, I told you never to use that word. There has never been a single failure. Kids are never failures. They just fail to find their niche. The thing that will juice them for life. Setbacks happen to everyone, but no one is ever a failure. Yes. circumstances, or society, or other folks can judge them failures, but they weren’t. Although all three of those things may have failed them!”
That was Sister Mary Gertrude. An advocate for life, for love, for her God.
On one of our last dinners together, when she was in her 90’s, I asked her if she regretted not having children. She laughed that giant hearty laugh of hers, where shaking like a bowl full of jello is a literal description. When she stopped to take off her glasses, and wipe her eyes free from tears, she smiles, took my hand in both of hers:
“Kevin, I have had thousands of children. You are one of them. I have also been a Sister to many, and for a few, I was their mother. Children? I couldn’t count them all.”
No, she couldn’t have. We are all her children. She was never something special, she just made us feel special. And that, my friends, is special.
By Kevin Hughes
Sister Mary Gertrude(Kevin Hughes)
In our modern politically correct environment, she would be called severely obese.
Back in my day, she wasn’t even called fat, she was called: “pleasantly plump.” It made her smile.
She was almost as round, as she was tall, which was fairly easy to do since she was not quite five feet tall.
It was a matter of little concern to her; If her girth matched her height, it would have made her laugh out loud.
She wore the same close every day. It wasn’t just out of habit, it was a habit.
Black and white, where the colors she wore everyday. It was the only thing she ever saw in black and white.
For her, all concepts had color, depth, and blends of gray. There were no absolutes in her vocabulary, except two:
1) every kid is worthwhile: 2) Love is the first response to anything.
She was fat, drab looking, never married, and had the same job for more than sixty years, how dull does that sound?
She lived with a bunch of other women, all spinsters- and loved it. She was a Cleveland Brown’s Football fan until the day she died.
She walked to work. Never learned to drive. Never had children of her own. Never married. Never once, in her whole life, did she ever get a paycheck. She worked for room and board only. On her only day off, she worked at a Food Kitchen for the morning. I never knew what color her hair was, or if she even had any. She never wore makeup of any kind, and was thrilled by her only “civilian shoes”, bowling shoes. Yep. Bowling shoes with a big circle with her size on the back of the heel: 4. She often wore those shoes on workdays…because she said they made it easier to chase the kids in the playground. She also had roller skates.
Oh, the roller skates. They weren’t technically shoes, so they weren’t against the rules to wear. She wore them to chaperone skating parties. She was a Diva on skates. She could glide, slide, and even jitterbug. Even into her late 80’s, former students would slip on their skates, and join her on the boards. The Bishop frowned, but wisely, looked away when the subject of her bright pink, covered with flowers, skates came up. He also looked the other way when a former student, now a parent, jitterbugged with her on the boards. In fact, he often admired how she could lead without seeming to do so. On skates, she wasn’t fat, round, or squat, she was grace incarnate. She would simply flow, in effortless elegance, swerving and turning, as if she was ice, not wooden wheels. Often the skating rink would empty of skaters so they could stand by the railings and watch her glide by.
When I first met her, I was six years old. When I last took her to dinner, I was forty thee. She was 93. Which means, when I met her, she was fifty years old, and had already been teaching for more than half her life. She was a Nun. A teacher. A Woman. And I believe that is the order she saw herself in. She was already the size I mentioned in the first paragraph. I never noticed, no one ever did. She was simply cuddly to us kids. When we got older, she was a safe, comfortable cuddle. When we became adults, well, one of my classmates said it best: “Sister Mary Gertrude? She was eminently huggable.” Yes…she was.
I did not know I was Autistic until very late in life. (Had I been diagnosed earlier, I would have had been labeled: Asperger’s syndrome -with ADHD, and ADD thrown in to boot!)
Sister Mary Gertrude realized within days - and these were the days when nothing, absolutely nothing was known about Autism, or ADD, or ADHD- that I was “special.” When she knew I could handle it, she kept me in the classroom, but never made me sit in a chair, or at my desk. I was free to stand and wander around. If, however, the class needed to concentrate, well, she put me in the hallway with a bunch of books, pen, and paper. It was the perfect way for me to learn at my pace, and on my own schedule. I had Sister Marry Gertrude for three grades: First, third, and fifth. Each of those school years, with her as my Teacher, were the best years in school I ever had, at any grade level, including- college.
She wasn’t a great singer, unless you count enthusiasm, and not pitch control. She wasn’t a great athlete- except on skates. She was not a beauty in any way, in fact, I think she may have been born with that happy grandmother countenance as a child. She wasn’t super good at math, or any other subject, she was an expert at teaching you those subjects though. She was the greatest listener I ever knew. She didn’t hear what you said out loud, she heard what you were trying to say. Excuses for not doing your homework, to her, meant a glimpse into your imagination, reasoning powers, and on some sad occasions, your home life. No one ever got an “F” for not doing their homework from Sister Mary Gertrude, what they got was a joint venture to see if you understood how to unlock your thinking. She never moved a kid up a grade, who couldn’t function at that next grade level. Sometimes, that took an extra year. No one who ever got held back by Sister Mary Gertrude blamed her, or regretted that second year. Why? Because that second year, she had a handle on how to work with you, and you never, ever, were held back again. In fact, she once proudly proclaimed that every kid she ever held back a year, ended up graduation from college.
I asked her one time, when I took her and my old principal out for lunch one day ( I was home on leave from the Army) if it was true that all those “failures” finished college?
“Oh, Kevin, I told you never to use that word. There has never been a single failure. Kids are never failures. They just fail to find their niche. The thing that will juice them for life. Setbacks happen to everyone, but no one is ever a failure. Yes. circumstances, or society, or other folks can judge them failures, but they weren’t. Although all three of those things may have failed them!”
That was Sister Mary Gertrude. An advocate for life, for love, for her God.
On one of our last dinners together, when she was in her 90’s, I asked her if she regretted not having children. She laughed that giant hearty laugh of hers, where shaking like a bowl full of jello is a literal description. When she stopped to take off her glasses, and wipe her eyes free from tears, she smiles, took my hand in both of hers:
“Kevin, I have had thousands of children. You are one of them. I have also been a Sister to many, and for a few, I was their mother. Children? I couldn’t count them all.”
No, she couldn’t have. We are all her children. She was never something special, she just made us feel special. And that, my friends, is special.
By Kevin Hughes
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