Dad and me in my suspender phase. I was always trying to find ways to make my Catholic school uniform as un-uniformy as possible.
Back at Catholic school, I had progressed to being in the St. Anthony’s building. So long, babies! I was then among the mature fourth- and fifth-graders. While the kindergarten through third-graders had all of those fun songs at weekly mass, St. Anthony’s had the May Crowning. When April rolled around, everyone’s focus was on the May Crowning festivities. We’d spend countless hours practicing all of the traditional May Crowning songs: “On This Day, O Beautiful Mother,” “Hail, Holy Queen Enthroned Above,” “Bring Flowers of the Rarest” (“Oh Mary! We Crown Thee with Blossoms Today”), and the mother(s) of all May Crowning songs “Immaculate Mary” and “Ave Maria.” I knew all of them by heart, and they’re still affectionately etched into my memory; I’m even getting to the point where I start tearing up whenever I sing them.
Even though we’d normally have church practice every week, things were definitely kicked up a few notches. The organist (who also doubled as our lunch lady) would bark down at us from the balcony: “Two verses only! Two verses only!” and we’d obediently start singing:
Hail, holy Queen enthron’d above, oh Maria!
Hail mother of mercy and of love, oh Maria!
Triumph all ye Cherubim, Sing with us ye Seraphim,
Heav’n and earth resound the hymn;
Salve, Salve, Salve Regina!
Fifth grade brought even more excitement to the May Crowning. Each year, one lucky fifth-grade girl was chosen for the big honor of the day: adorning the statue of Mary with a beautiful crown of flowers. Even though no one would admit it, I think all of us girls secretly wanted that privilege. It wasn’t something that the faculty voted on; it was left entirely to the fifth-grade students. Our first exposure to actually voting for someone, it was kind of the gateway to voting for bigger things like Student Council and Homecoming Court.
This is how I remember the voting process: All of the girls in fifth grade had their names written on the blackboard, and then everyone would vote for two people. From there we would keep voting and eliminating names in each round until we got to a winner. I ended up making the first cut, but when we got to the second round my name was missing.
As my eyes scanned the blackboard and fell on a few names I couldn’t help but feel indignant. I could handle not being up there, but if I was going to be voted off of the island then why were those little two-faced …
Truth be told, I knew why my name wasn’t up there. It was because I had become (shiver): the Teacher’s Pet.
If you’re wondering how that happened … well, it wasn’t exactly something I was aiming for in life. For starters, I was a pretty obedient kid, so that naturally lends itself to the role. Secondly, I had straight As the majority of the time. Many people didn’t know that I had to work harder than most others for those grades, but it didn’t matter. It also probably didn’t help that I’d kicked everyone’s sorry ass at that name-the-state-capitals game. (Side note: I was good friends with kids a year older than I; the year before on our daily bus ride I’d been quizzing them on state capitals, and it all just stuck in my brain.)
Outside of the classroom I was even excelling on the playground. Even though I clearly stunk at most sports, I was quite good at kickball, and that was the sport of choice for girls at recess in fourth and fifth grade.
But then the whole Richard Simmons thing happened.
No, Richard Simmons didn’t make a surprise appearance at our school or anything, although that would’ve been epic. Rather, our female gym teacher made us learn actual Richard Simmons aerobics routines to his recordings. Since I liked dancing and any kind of exercise that involved dancing (see: Jazzercise talent show), I fully committed myself to learning all of the moves.
I can still hear Richard’s voice on the record as the music started:
You start losing, weight … you stop losing weight!
You know in your heart … that you can’t stop and start …
Not only did we perform Richard Simmons’ songs, we got to exercise to Michael Jackson’s iconic “Beat It.” When it came time for the teacher to pick two student leaders for all of the routines, I was one of them.
But then, as if my Teacher’s Pet status wasn’t already enough, one last thing clearly sealed the deal: I was named the school’s official phone answerer.
What’s the school phone answerer, you ask? Well, as strange as it may sound, there was only one phone (rotary dial, of course) in all of St. Anthony’s school. The school was small and only held four classrooms: two for fourth grade and two for fifth grade. The second floor featured a small “office” that just housed a bunch of filing cabinets and a small table for the phone. There was no secretary; Sister Jerome was one of the fifth-grade teachers but also doubled as the head teacher/administrator in the building. We didn’t get many phone calls, but Sister Jerome didn’t want to be bothered and interrupted during her lesson every time the phone rang. So every year she’d choose one student in her class to answer the phone, and I was that person. I got to sit in the desk positioned right by the door so that I could hear the phone and jump up at a moment’s notice.
At first glance, one might be confused as to why that position would cause such jealousy. But think about it: At any time the phone could get me out of a really boring class. It was a prime opportunity to leave class with built-in permission! Most of the other kids hated me for that.
I remember one time a parent called school to ask how her son was feeling. I guess Chad hadn’t felt well in the morning and wasn’t sure if he should actually have gone to school, so his mother wanted to check on him. As soon as I had answered the phone she was completely confused.
“Uh … why are you answering the phone? Isn’t there someone else there who normally answers the phone?”
I was flustered. No one had ever questioned my phone duties before.
“Uh … yes. I mean no. I mean I usually answer the phone.”
“Well, is there someone there who could tell me if Chad is feeling okay?”
“Okay … I can check?”
I then walked downstairs, found Chad’s classroom, asked if he was okay, then reported back to his mom. But by the time I had returned she must have given up; nobody was on the line. Phone answerer duty was stressful and thankless.
Back at the May Crowning voting, I knew there wasn’t any way I could have both the phone and the crown. Luckily, my class ended up doing the right thing and voting for the absolute best person to be May Queen – one of my very best friends Tamara. That would be a sharp contrast to our eighth-grade class that decided that “The Future’s So Bright, We’ve Got to Wear Shades” would be our class graduation motto. (That’s what happens when the girls are outnumbered. Stupid boys.)
As for the rest of us, we were assigned other duties for the May Crowning. Everyone was charged with bringing in one single silk flower to be used as an umbrella of flora for the May Queen to walk through. After that, we would each place our flowers at Mary’s feet. We’d rehearsed our little hearts out with much pageantry and pomp, holding our flowers up in a beautiful canopy for the May Queen. To this day, those May Crowning songs hold a special place in my heart; I believe they’re the most beautiful of all of the hymns I’ve ever sung.
The other special Catholic Mass service that I secretly enjoyed was the Stations of the Cross, which we did in middle school. Much like our weekly masses and the May Crowning, our teachers made sure we were active participants. A few strong boys were chosen to carry the wooden cross up the aisle and then around the perimeter of the church, pausing at each station while another student read. Every year I’d wished the same thing – I’d wanted to read the Sixth Station: Veronica Wipes the Face of Jesus. I thought the name Veronica was really cool, and it would have been even cooler to just say it out loud for everyone to hear. (I know, I was a strange kid.) Besides, who was this mysterious Veronica? She just seemed to pop in on the scene that day, am I right?
I never did get assigned the Sixth Station (snubbed again!), but my time of glory would finally come in the sixth grade … at Christmas pageant time. The two sixth-grade teachers had decided that our class would sing along to a Roger Whittaker song called “Momma Mary” while we enacted in the background a little skit of Christ’s birth. I remember Sister Marion going around the room asking everyone what part they’d wanted in the skit and what ideas they’d had for it. There really wouldn’t be any speaking parts; most people would be singing the Roger Whittaker song. The only real acting parts would be Mary, Joseph, the wise men, a shepherd, and maybe an innkeeper. (Side note: I’m not entirely convinced that Jesus was born in a stable. A priest once had told my class that Jesus was most likely born in a cave, which probably makes more sense.)
Anyway, I’d fully planned on just being one of the regular chorus singers, but then the overachiever side of me possessed me to think Oh well, screw that noise … I want to be Mary, y’all! I’m sure my classmates thought it was my big ambition in life to play Mary, but I can assure you that that wasn’t the case. My completely nonoriginal grand “idea” for Mary was to wear a white robe and a light blue head wrap. Real groundbreaking stuff.
When it came time to audition for Mary, I really wasn’t sure what I’d do. It was probably the one and only time in my life when I could say that winging it worked out in my favor. It was between two other girls and me, and we were told to “play Mary” as the kids sang:
Tell me how did you feel when the angel came into the garden?
How did you feel, How did you feel?
When he said “If you’re afraid I beg your pardon,
but you’re the one to bear God’s son.
Tell me how did you feel (how did you feel) ... how did you feel (how did you feel) …
O Momma, Momma Mary, we wish you joy, we wish you joy.
O Momma, Momma Mary, your little boy, your little boy …
Soon to be our saviour.
The first girl who auditioned wasn’t quite sure what to do, and I guess I couldn’t blame her. We weren’t given much guidance, and maybe that was the point: The teachers had wanted to see what we’d come up with. She ended up just holding and rocking the Cabbage Patch doll Jesus in her arms while smiling nervously.
I think I was up next. I ended up choreographing some moves to the song. At some points I’d prayed quietly over the baby Jesus. Other times I’d folded my hands in prayer. Sometimes I’d pick him up and look at him adoringly. And then still other times I’d solemnly look upward at the heavens, hands folded in prayer, focused intently on the Father in Heaven.
I didn’t really know how good it was, but apparently Sister Marion and the other teacher thought it was phenomenal. They’d even gone as far as to think I’d taken acting lessons. (That part makes me laugh.)
The night of the show was a big hit, and the performance went off without a hitch. My second cousins idolized me for weeks, reenacting the famous Mary, and singing the Roger Whittaker song at home. (I have to admit, it was quite an infectious tune.)
Little did I know that that would be one of the very last times I’d enjoy performing on a stage – or drawing any kind of attention to myself, for that matter. True adolescence was about to kick in, and like Mary herself I soon wanted to run from any kind of spotlight.