Sister
Mary Jo Wendalyn and the Wrath of the Baltimore Catechism: A
Concussion-Inducing Comedy of Errors
Hold
onto your rosaries, folks, because this story from my Catholic school days is a
doozy! It involves a pint-sized second grader (yours truly), a tiny blue book
of holy terror (The Baltimore Catechism), and a nun who could rival the Hulk in
terms of rage (Sister Mary Jo Wendalyn).
Sister
Mary Jo was on a mission to fill our impressionable minds with divine
knowledge. But this nun had a unique teaching style that involved a lot of
shouting, a lot of hand gestures, and a lot of… well, threats of eternal
damnation.
Now,
being the inquisitive little rascal I was, I had a knack for asking questions.
Every time Sister Mary Jo spewed a “fact” about God, I couldn’t help
but raise my hand and pipe up with a curious “But how do you know
that?”
This didn’t win me any brownie points with Sister Mary Jo. I didn’t get it.
All the other kids in the class had a deer in the headlight look except me. I
mean, was I touched? Well, certainly not by God –yet.
One
fateful day, my insatiable curiosity pushed her over the edge. After another
round of questioning, she transformed into a holy whirlwind of fury. She
transformed into a black bird with a pointed beak. In a flash, she had me by
the white collar of my perfectly pressed white uniform blouse. She was using
that innocent-looking blue catechism as a weapon of mass instruction, whacking
me upside the head while shrieking, “BECAUSE THIS LITTLE BLUE BALTIMORE
CATECHISM SAYS SO!”
Talk
about a religious experience! I swear I saw stars, angels, and maybe even a
glimpse of the pearly gates during those concussion-inducing whacks.
Miraculously,
I survived the ordeal, but Sister Mary Jo had a card up her sleeve. She
convinced my mother I needed to be held back a year in the second grade because
“Your child is just not getting it.” WHAT? I cried for days. I got it in trips!
I had a bald spot on my head to prove I GOT IT! But I repeated the
second grade—my mind’s form of solitary confinement. Despite the old bird’s
efforts, I thrived! I graduated high school in a record-breaking three years
(eat your heart out, Sister Mary Jo!), graduated with my class, and even
found my path to faith (minus the head trauma).
So,
here’s to Sister Mary Jo Wendalyn, the nun who inadvertently taught me the
importance of critical thinking, even if her methods were a little…
unorthodox. And here’s to The Baltimore Catechism, the little blue book that still holds a special place in my memory (and my skull) despite its violent past with me.
Moral
of the story: If a nun ever comes at you with a tiny blue book, duck! And maybe
ask a few questions later, once the ringing in your ears has subsided.
Baltimore Catechism:
