The last blog entry already had me thinking about Bishop Fenwick's authoritarian nuns when a letter in the mail announced the retirement of vice principal Sr. Geraldine Burns. Inside was a glowing account of her tenure by former principal, Ralph LeDuc who said, “Her imprint on so many lives is indelible...” All I could think was, “It's probably a scar.”
Looking up Sr. Geraldine on Ratemyteachers.com reveals some extremely negative comments. While some of the nun's detractors admit she is good at her job, most are critical of her attitude. Online review sites should be taken with a grain of salt but in this case, I think those disapproving remarks are quite valid.
Contrary to the smiling educator featured on the cover of that letter, I found Sr. Geraldine to be a cold disciplinarian who largely interacted with students when they did something wrong. I had the pleasure of being sent to her office a few times, mostly for tardiness. Was I depressed about something? Were other students bullying me? Perhaps there was trouble at home. Sr. Geraldine wasn't interested in any of that. I broke the rules so some kind of punishment was needed to curtail such behavior. However, discipline without thoughtfulness fails to address a problem's root cause.
Around this time, an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation introduced viewers to Lt. Barclay, a smart but anxious member of the crew who had trouble fitting in. When the chief engineer complained about this misfit's behavior, the ship's bar tender replied, “If I felt nobody wanted to be around me, I'd probably be late and nervous too.” Eventually, the chief engineer used understanding and encouragement to bring out the best in Lt. Barclay. The story really hit home with me. Too bad Sr. Geraldine didn't watch Star Trek!
When educators adopt a “one-size-fits-all” approach, they can do more harm that good. My quirky history teacher, Mr. Kawczynski loved playing devil's advocate because he thought it would build confidence. For me, it created a climate of intimidation. One particular discussion on morality led Mr. K to ask if we would ever pose nude in a magazine for a large sum of money. Some of us said no so he kept upping the price to change our minds. After he reached the multi-million dollar mark, I was the only one who still refused the hypothetical offer. A wisecracking student asked what I had hidden in my pants that was worth so much. The class got a good laugh but it was at my expense.
During tests, Mr. K sometimes whistled to break our concentration. He said if we had focused minds like that of a Kung fu master, we wouldn't be distracted. While discussing the need for more class participation, I got singled out as an example of a shy kid. He then proceeded to do an exaggerated imitation of me struggling to ask questions. Most reviewers on Ratemyteachers.com acknowledge Mr. Kawczynski's challenging behavior but they also praise him. One student says, “Those who left bad reviews were probably a bit over sensitive...” Call me overly sensitive but I don't think being mocked in front of the entire class made such a good learning environment.
When a teacher's personality clashes with a student, whose problem is it? Since the job of an educator is to EDUCATE, more should be done to reach struggling students even if it means changing tactics. Would the school descend into anarchy if Sr. Geraldine tried being friendlier? Did Mr. Kawczynski have to shoot down all of our arguments with such vigor? Our teen years can be extremely awkward because there is so much we don't know. Sometimes students need their teachers to be mentors, not taskmasters.
As memories of high school fade into the background we tend to remember the things that made a big impression. I don't recall many of the lessons from my classes but those bad experiences sure do stand out. Inside that Sr. Geraldine retirement letter was space to write a personal note about her “positive” impact. Sadly, I didn't have anything to say.
I sat with an interesting group of friends and acquaintances during my lunch period at Bishop Fenwick High School. Most of them embraced an alternative style but they weren't often shunned as outcasts. Some successfully navigated their way through the school's different cliques while others didn't get bullied simply because they were female. (Even the jocks had their limits.) Almost everyone in our group had an artistic side and a few were so talented, they took an advanced art class.
At one point, these art students disappeared from the cafeteria. As it turned out, their teacher had given them permission to eat lunch in the art room so they would have extra time to work on projects. We weren't too keen on the idea of our cafeteria group splitting up so one friend in the class suggested we all go to the art room together during lunch. The teacher wouldn't be there because she had trusted her students to work on their projects without supervision. None of us thought a few additional students in the art room would be a big deal. Famous last words.
Since the place was located in a small wing off the main building, it felt like a refreshing oasis far from the maddening crowd. Someone found a radio with a tape player so a few of us brought in cassettes of our favorite bands for everyone to listen to. It was nice having our cafeteria group remain intact and in many ways, lunch in the art room underscored our place in the school's culture: creative, thoughtful, quiet souls disconnected from the popular crowd. With a nod and a walk down the hall, it felt like we were heading to a secret club but after a couple of weeks, these lunch sessions seemed routine.
One day, I was joking with an acquaintance when out of the corner of my eye, a nun appeared in the doorway. She looked around the art room and wondered why we were all here. A few kids tried to explain but she wasn't having any of it. She got a piece of paper and a pencil and one by one, asked for our names. In a display of resignation, I spelled out my last name for her. We were then instructed to pack up our things and go back to the cafeteria. I had just read George Orwell's 1984 so it felt like our little respite had been broken up by the Thought Police. I was filled with a cold, sinking feeling and as we walked back down the hallway, I sang a line from the 1956 song The Party's Over to lighten my mood.
Many people think teenagers aren't too considerate but our group was very concerned about what this would mean for the art teacher. None of us wanted to see her get in trouble because of our actions. After an investigation by some of the nuns, we received a verbal reprimand and everyone was prohibited from leaving the cafeteria during lunch period. The art teacher shook her head at us in disgust. From her point of view, she felt we took advantage of the trust she gave her art students.
I didn't think what we had done was so bad because there was no malicious intent in our hearts. We only wanted to maintain the comfort our lunchroom group provided. There was no sense of entitlement and we were careful not to be disruptive. The radio's volume was low and our conversations were subdued. While the nuns had every right to discipline us, blindly handing out punishments just to keep everyone in line wasn't a very Christian approach.
During my high school years, I kept hearing the phrase “Fenwick is family” but the authoritarian nuns only saw our infraction and not the reasons behind it. Did they care that some students were struggling to fit in? Apparently not.
