I attended Assumption Catholic School in Richfield, MN. At the time, Assumption taught kindergarten through eighth grade and I began attending school at Assumption in 1st grade. I found school difficult and did especially poor in arithmetic and other logic-related studies.
My mind would wander during subjects that held no relevance or interest to me. Arithmetic was at the top of the list of subjects that did not interest me. I was so far behind in multiplication and would consistently score a “D” or “F” on any test. I was embarrassed every time the teacher called on me in class, because I never, ever knew the answer to the question. I would simply stare back at the teacher until she realized how clueless I was and moved on to another student who knew the answer.
During one particular session (I believe I was in 3rd grade) I was at the chalkboard with other students trying to solve a multiplication problem. The other students quickly solved their problems and would return to their seats and then another student would take their turn at the chalkboard. Student after student came to the chalkboard, completed their problem and returned to their seat, while I continued to just stare at the multiplication problem. I tried to look as if I were pondering the problem before committing to writing my answer, but in truth, it was as if I were staring at a foreign language.
I have no idea how long I stood in front of my problem, but eventually the teacher began to yell at me and tap the top of my head with her index finger. I was very embarrassed as she berated me in front of the class. “You stupid! You stupid! Do the problem!” she yelled. As she continued to yell at me, I became distressed and began to cry. A thousand thoughts swirled through my mind as she continued to humiliate me. I wanted to hide, for I knew my classmates were watching the entire episode waiting to see what would happen next.
I glanced to my left and saw the classroom door, which led out into the hallway. There was my escape! I convinced myself if I could reach the door and run like the dickens down the hallway, she wouldn’t be quick enough to catch me. I glanced at the chalkboard and lifted my hand as if to miraculously solve the problem. The teacher began to walk away from me. The diversion worked. Humiliated and angry, I bolted like a trapped animal from the classroom. Once in the hallway, I turned right and ran with all my might toward the end of the hallway and then took another right to the stairs. It seemed as if I flew up the stairs and my feet scarcely touched the steps. When I reached the top of the stairwell, I pushed open the heavy school doors and disappeared out to the parking lot. As I approached the Rectory, I said a quick prayer for no priests or teachers to be standing around. I sprinted past the Rectory and headed towards home a few miles away. Freedom!
As I ran east on 76th Street, I instinctively hid from every car I saw; convinced it contained a posse from the school sent to hunt me down. When I arrived home, my mother was surprised to see me. In tears and gasping for breath, I told her how the teacher had humiliated me in front of the class by tapping my head with her finger and calling me “stupid.” I swore that I would never go back. Ever! Someone from the school soon called to explain what had occurred. Mom assured them I had arrived home safely and she would personally bring me to school the following day for a meeting with the principal. True to her word, mom drove me to school the very next day.
Now, Catholic schools were not known for their sympathy or empathy. The next day, I appeared before the principal, Sister Joseph I believe, in her office. She was a very stern and strict nun and made it clear from the very beginning what I had done was wrong and I would be required to stand before my class and apologize. At that point, I decided it would be best to just keep quiet and do what I was told. My mom and the principal talked about providing extra help for my dismal academics and then mom went home.
It was a very long and lonely walk down the hallway, and Sister Joseph walked very close by my side. Perhaps she wanted to be within striking distance if I changed my mind and decided to bolt. When I arrived at my classroom, Sister Joseph stood me in front of my classmates and said I had something to say. I sobbingly told them how sorry I was for running out of the classroom. Can you imagine what it was like to have approximately 35 sets of eyes staring at you while you pour your heart out with an apology? I’m sure I was only in front of the class for a few minutes, but it seemed like hours.
When I finally finished with my apology, I took a few steps toward my desk and wondered how I would make it through the day. It occurred to me I had just completed one of the most difficult tasks I had ever attempted and thought, well, at least it couldn’t get any worse; I was wrong.
Sister Joseph stopped me from returning to my desk and said I had to apologize to the class next door. “Why?” I protested through my tears. She told me when I ran out of the classroom, I slammed our class door with such force it disturbed the students in the other classroom. I tried to argue against this new charge, but was immediately overruled and silenced.
Sister Joseph paraded me to the class next door and once again, I stood in front of a classroom of students and apologized. My emotions changed from embarrassment to anger and resentment. It was a devastating event, which would remain with me forever. It is incredible, funny, or sad to think how seemingly insignificant events (in the overall scheme of things) in one’s life can have such a powerful and lasting impact.
How powerful? In 2013, I did a search on the Internet and found a classmate of mine, Steve Mullvain. Steve and I went to school together from 1st grade through high school. His journey in life took him to Georgia and I wrote to him to say hello and see how life had treated him. After the usual polite responses, he then asked if I remembered running out of arithmetic class.
We were both 61-years-old and he still remembered that incident.
