admire here.”
She had a point, too, but . . .
Jen couldn’t stand—still can’t stand—the idea of her little girl facing down cruel bullies day after day.
Sister Linda repeatedly assured her that she would be meeting regularly with Carley and her team of teachers to make sure the situation had been nipped in the bud.
“I’d like to come in and meet with them, too,” Jen said, “and my husband could probably—”
“Mrs. Archer, I know you’re concerned, but let’s not blow this situation out of proportion.”
Jen bristled at that, but when she repeated later the comment to Thad, he shrugged. “I can see her point.”
“ What? ”
“You do have a tendency to get a little—”
“Don’t you dare say melodramatic!”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Or even just dramatic.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, either.”
“What were you going to say, then?”
“Just that you can get a little worked up sometimes when—”
“I do not get worked up!”
“When it comes to the kids? Really?”
All right, maybe she does. But this is serious, not something to be brushed off like an overdue library book.
To be fair, the social worker has touched base by e-mail several times since the initial phone call. Still, she’s made it abundantly clear that Carley is in high school now, and parents are encouraged to foster independence in their daughters.
You don’t have to cut the apron strings, Mrs. Archer, Sister Linda wrote, but it’s not a bad idea to loosen them a bit. We aren’t doing our young women any favors if we fight their battles for them, are we?
In that moment, Jen hated her with all her heart. Almost as much as she hated the bullies who chose Carley as their target.
She’s since conceded that Sister Linda wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t previously drilled into the parents of incoming freshmen. At Sacred Sisters orientation last spring and again at Back to School night in September, the message came with different phrasing, depending on who was delivering it: the principal, the guidance counselors, various teachers and coaches, even the school nurse.
But the basic theme was this : It’s time to let go, Mama Bear.
In other words, the school dress code and the staff aren’t the only things that have changed in the twenty-five years since Jen graduated.
Back then, no one was encouraging the girls of Sacred Sisters to think for themselves or solve their own problems. They weren’t exactly coddled, but it wasn’t sink or swim, either. The prevailing message, when you had a problem, was “Give it up to God.”
Nearly all the teachers in the old days were nuns with a few priests thrown in, and unlike at many local Catholic schools, that hasn’t changed at Sisters.
Still, in some ways, the credo was somehow less conservative back then than it is now. Most of the staff when Jen was here had started teaching in the wake of Vatican II, and the nuns wore street clothes.
The pendulum has since swung back. Weekly Latin Mass has made a comeback. The current crop of teachers includes many nuns who belong to a conservative order and still wear traditional habits.
The only one who remains from Jen’s day is Sister Margaret, the elderly home economics teacher. Back then, her job—ironic in many ways—was to teach the girls to be competent housewives. She still conducts cooking and sewing classes, according to Carley, but her title is now home and career instructor, and computer courses have been added to her curriculum.
“Sister Margaret uses a computer?” Jen was incredulous. “She was half blind when I knew her.”
“She’s pretty much all blind now,” Carley said. “But that’s why she likes the computer. She has voice recognition software.”
That conversation took place early in the school year when Carley seemed tentatively optimistic about her future at Sisters. At that point, Jen was a lot more comfortable with the idea of letting go.
It’s not so easy
She had a point, too, but . . .
Jen couldn’t stand—still can’t stand—the idea of her little girl facing down cruel bullies day after day.
Sister Linda repeatedly assured her that she would be meeting regularly with Carley and her team of teachers to make sure the situation had been nipped in the bud.
“I’d like to come in and meet with them, too,” Jen said, “and my husband could probably—”
“Mrs. Archer, I know you’re concerned, but let’s not blow this situation out of proportion.”
Jen bristled at that, but when she repeated later the comment to Thad, he shrugged. “I can see her point.”
“ What? ”
“You do have a tendency to get a little—”
“Don’t you dare say melodramatic!”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“Or even just dramatic.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, either.”
“What were you going to say, then?”
“Just that you can get a little worked up sometimes when—”
“I do not get worked up!”
“When it comes to the kids? Really?”
All right, maybe she does. But this is serious, not something to be brushed off like an overdue library book.
To be fair, the social worker has touched base by e-mail several times since the initial phone call. Still, she’s made it abundantly clear that Carley is in high school now, and parents are encouraged to foster independence in their daughters.
You don’t have to cut the apron strings, Mrs. Archer, Sister Linda wrote, but it’s not a bad idea to loosen them a bit. We aren’t doing our young women any favors if we fight their battles for them, are we?
In that moment, Jen hated her with all her heart. Almost as much as she hated the bullies who chose Carley as their target.
She’s since conceded that Sister Linda wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t previously drilled into the parents of incoming freshmen. At Sacred Sisters orientation last spring and again at Back to School night in September, the message came with different phrasing, depending on who was delivering it: the principal, the guidance counselors, various teachers and coaches, even the school nurse.
But the basic theme was this : It’s time to let go, Mama Bear.
In other words, the school dress code and the staff aren’t the only things that have changed in the twenty-five years since Jen graduated.
Back then, no one was encouraging the girls of Sacred Sisters to think for themselves or solve their own problems. They weren’t exactly coddled, but it wasn’t sink or swim, either. The prevailing message, when you had a problem, was “Give it up to God.”
Nearly all the teachers in the old days were nuns with a few priests thrown in, and unlike at many local Catholic schools, that hasn’t changed at Sisters.
Still, in some ways, the credo was somehow less conservative back then than it is now. Most of the staff when Jen was here had started teaching in the wake of Vatican II, and the nuns wore street clothes.
The pendulum has since swung back. Weekly Latin Mass has made a comeback. The current crop of teachers includes many nuns who belong to a conservative order and still wear traditional habits.
The only one who remains from Jen’s day is Sister Margaret, the elderly home economics teacher. Back then, her job—ironic in many ways—was to teach the girls to be competent housewives. She still conducts cooking and sewing classes, according to Carley, but her title is now home and career instructor, and computer courses have been added to her curriculum.
“Sister Margaret uses a computer?” Jen was incredulous. “She was half blind when I knew her.”
“She’s pretty much all blind now,” Carley said. “But that’s why she likes the computer. She has voice recognition software.”
That conversation took place early in the school year when Carley seemed tentatively optimistic about her future at Sisters. At that point, Jen was a lot more comfortable with the idea of letting go.
It’s not so easy
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