Catholic school, LDs.
Because I are one (Catholic, not a Catholic school).
I remember in Kindergarten having our own tiny bathroom. Letter People. Coloring and playtime. Trying to memorize your address and phone number. Getting a note sent home to my mom about “paying attention” (yes, I remember what it was for, and no, I’m not telling you).
First Communion and wearing the Communion dress that my mumsy wore when she had hers. Being asked who was God’s first people, getting stage fright, and even though Father Groesch whispered “Adam and Eve” (and everyone hearing it over the mic and laughing), I still couldn’t say it.
Christmas programs, and the only line I can remember is “Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me *big wink to the crowd* – I’ll take care of you!” (I was the oldest of three orphans.) Being Tommy’s grandmother and wearing someone’s reading glasses on the end of my nose and presenting a quilt.
Confirmation and choosing a Blessed instead of a Saint for my confirmation name, and getting it approved. Playing sports with the boys and not segregating recess until fifth gra
de or so. Being a patrol officer in eighth for the younger kids and being the secretary of our board.
Soccer parties at Chuck E Cheese and getting Indian names (I was Running Deer), and I still have all those award papers.
Learning what it was like to change classes like we would in high school. Getting to spend an entire morning helping the Kindergarteners with their end-of-year program.
Being songleader for thirds’ First Communion.
Birthday weenie roasts and hay rides. Slumber parties where no one slept much at all.
Fall Festival and spring Ice Cream Social and snorting PixiStix.
Writing good things about everyone in our class. I still have that page of paper. It’s in my hope chest, and it’s something I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of. There have been times when I’ve had a bad day, and just reading those simple, seventh grade affirmations have made me feel better.
Seventeen of us – seven girls, ten boys – in the gym after graduation. Not a one of us wasn’t tear-streaked. It was the end – the teammates, the closeness, the memories. I haven’t seen most of them in 20 years.
But if any of them needed my help in any way, I’d be there for them.
Some people think it strange to keep in touch with the kids you went to grade school with; I don’t think it’s weird at all.
To the St. Cabrini Class of 1992: love you all.
Then and now.