I went to a Catholic school called Blessed Sacrament in first and second grades. I loved it. I don’t have any of the mean-nun memories so joked about. The only scary part for me was when we were to have our first communion, be little brides of Christ as the nuns smilingly called it.
Wisconsin State Historical Society photo:
1958 Holy Redeemer Communion Class, Madison, WI
This terrified me.
So much so that, I was good and sick on the day I was to celebrate my own first communion with my Blessed Sacrament classmates. Somehow, I was aware that brides “do married things” in bed with their husbands, and, I wanted no part of it. Flat-out scared to death, I started the morning vomiting and got a reprieve.
Why was I so frightened? OF, exactly, what? (What did a 1950s seven-year-old know about “things” married couples do in bed?)
Christ or no Christ, I just knew I wanted no part of any brides-&-husbands script.
Memories from my first couple of years of elementary school include this particularly bizarre one: I am with my father at the home of a friend of his. The friend has just shown my father something in his basement, me in tow via my father’s hand, and we are walking back upstairs. (I don’t know how old I am — somewhere between five and, seven? Eight, tops — but I am young enough that, to hold my father’s hand, I have to reach upwards.) The stairs are adjacent to the concrete basement wall and my father is on the side nearest the wall. In my unobstructed right field of vision, I see a naked little girl tied to a vertical pole or column. I can still “see” me climbing the stairs, a surprised me catching sight of her there, a rope going from her right wrist to around a concrete column or, pole.
“Why is that little girl tied up there without any clothes on?” I ask my father.
“Mind your own business,” he says.