I attended Dowling Catholic High School in Des Moines, Iowa in the late 70s. At that time, clergy still comprised a portion of the teaching staff. (Not the case today as there are fewer nuns and priests in the U.S.).
One day, during my freshman year, while sitting in class, there was a knock at the door and this nun entered the room. She spoke briefly with the teacher and then looked grimly in my direction. She was a petite woman, wearing an A-line wool smock dress covered with a beige sweater, the sleeves of which housed her partially used facial tissue. I did not recognize her, but knew immediately that she was a nun by the telltale signs: no makeup, a standard solemn continence, and a beige aura that generally matched her clothes.
Moments after speaking with the teacher, I was called out of the room to face this woman who established eye contact with a mixture of authority and retribution. I learned that she patrolled the hallways during class periods, and while doing so found a disturbing problem that needed resolution.
With clueless trepidation I followed her to the issue in question. With hand and forefinger extended (think Ghost of Christmas future and you’ve got it) she gravely pointed to the culprit of her concern. As if to scream “Man down!” there rested a fallen trashcan in the locker stalls surrounded by the debris of trash strewn forth. The contents carpeted the high-gloss terrazzo flooring in a violent projectile fashion.
Then from within the deep sanctum of her sweater pocket, the nun dramatically retrieved a crumpled piece of paper which she unfurled and handed to me. Yes, the paper had my name on it. “Sherry Perry” scrawled in the right hand corner of this old assignment, which came as no surprise to me as I was partial to tossing my trash in this can located near my locker.
At this point what became clear is that this woman had determined that I was the guilty party, based on this telltale piece of paper she had picked up from the rest. She had determined that prior to attending class, I had gratified my prankster self by head-banging the grey plastic vessel for the joy of watching waste fly. Ah, alas if only I had been such a person, instead of the mousy, fearful, loser-type that actually was my persona throughout high school.
With confusion as my companion, and her enforcement work completed, the nun padded off in her gum sole shoes to save other hallways of the school. I quickly gathered all the trash, placed it in the righted receptacle and scurried back to class. No long lasting damage done other than my understanding of how she arrived at my guilt. I was always perplexed by her reasoning but considered it a sign of things to come in high school. What the H-E-double toothpicks ― it will all be fleshed out in purgatory. Just for the record though I didn’t do it.
Ever been accused of something you did not do?
photo by giveawayboy, powered by flickr
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