My First Week at St. Vincent’s
My two younger sisters and I are the products of a mixed marriage. At the time (mid 1940’s) and place (old suburb nestled up close to the western edge of Chicago), a mixed marriage meant a Catholic married to a Protestant. Our mother was the Catholic and our father was the Protestant.
I was a very physically active child. I climbed trees, fell off roller skates, raced on my bike, waved my arms and knocked things over. I never walked if I could run. I was enthusiastic and clumsy. And patience was not one of my virtues.
I was, however, more than ready for first grade. I had attended a pre-school and two years in a well-run kindergarten at the local public school. Classes averaged less than 20 kids. I loved school. I knew the drill.
St. Vincent Ferrer was our Catholic parish. The church itself had not yet been built and Mass was held in the school gymnasium. The school, however, was humming. And overflowing.
Why did my mother think (and my father agree) that sending me to a first grade of 60 some children (but only 30 desks) was a good idea?
We had to share desks … one desk, two little chairs, two kids. I was paired with a boy who didn’t seem to have been in school before. I already thought boys were pretty dumb, and he didn’t improve my opinion. He didn’t pay attention or follow Sister’s instructions. When we were told to take a book, or a pencil and paper out of our desks, or to put something away in our desks, or to tidy up and go stand by the door, he just sat there with his arms holding down the desk lid saying ”what? what?”
After a few days of this I must have lost it. “Open the desk, stupid!” I yelled. I poked him in the side. He fell off the chair; he cried. Sister phoned my mother. There was a conference. I was asked to leave. Expelled from the first grade! And happily returned to the public school system.
That was the last of my Catholic School education … until my mother decided I needed to go to a Catholic High School. But that’s another story.
Karen Christensen McGirr