The Force Of A Habit

Anyone who went through a Catholic parochial grammar school education during the 50's and early 60's will recognize much of this entry, if they were taught by the nuns of the Dominican Order.  The Sisters of St. Dominic, white and black habits, could instill both paralyzing fear and quiet awe in a child.  For the first eight years of our lives, my siblings and I were taught beneath the shelter of those black veils.  They were sharp, serious and very smart.  No one ever referred to them as women; beyond gender, they had a special aura people reacted to instantly.

These nuns were frightening at first to a 5 or 6 year old, but in time this need to please surfaced and depending on your home life, it either pushed you to excel or left you in that frozen fear where you remained, mediocre.  These nuns had power.  Much of it came from their habits.  When they walked at a clip, those veils would flap in their wake like the wings of some giant crow. 

As the years progressed, every girl in school wanted to become a nun, of course, there was never a question.  As for the boys, they didn't seem to catch the lure for priesthood, wanting to be pilots or truck drivers, and besides they were forced to be "altar boys" who helped the priest during the Mass.  They'd had enough.  Parents worked hard to keep their kids in a Catholic school, so when one or more would express a desire to "take the holy orders" it was cause for great joy.  In all Irish-Italian Catholic homes it was a well-known fact that your place in heaven was assured if a relative "took the veil".  At our age we could hardly remember to take a bath.

My younger sister and me were not immune to the strange seduction of the habit.  We decided we couldn't wait and dove into Mom's neatly folded, clean white cotton sheets to start our "habits."  Measuring, cutting, we knew every inch, every detail of the costume, and set about the task with a special reverance and glee.  Since Mom didn't have black sheets, we ripped off the backing of a new set of curtains Mom was saving "for special".  Too late, we were already under the spell of the black and white and nothing could stop us.  After all, this was the start of the 60's, everything was slow and easy, the suburbs had proved a success, things were booming, we were young, free and we had a plan. 

Stitching and sewing fevorishing, before long we were done.  Oaktag was used for the "box" the nuns wore on their heads upon which was placed the long black veil with white lining ending at the shoulder.  The box always made them look like they had a headache, where it pinched their foreheads.  We made our long white gowns, the equally long, thin scapular which hid the nun's hands when not in use.  She would float on an invisible cloud as she silently, slowly made her way  up and down each aisle to watch us work.  It gave one many opportunities to study this strange garment and its many parts.  A long, extra huge black rosary hung from the inner gown, partially covered by the scapular.  We knew the parts by rote, with no idea what they meant. 

Too young to actually be nuns, we could at least look like them, and even had our purpose:  "Feed the hungry!"  We would get our little brown bags and go about the neighborhood on pious shoes, asking alms for the poor.  Oh so humble!

As we donned our habits, some swift metamorphosis took place, our voices became softer, lower, our slo-motion movements dignified and studied.  We were filled with some faux piety, instilled by the look of the habit.  We felt special, apart, unique and worthy.  Out we went for those pennies, anxious to help "the poor" which of course, was us.

First we thought we'd appeal to the cars passing by our home, which was set back from a main road.  Nothing was really paved except the street, and we stood precariously on the edges between the parched grass and paved gravel, holding out our bags with a look of such eager yet humble need, most people were helpless not to stop and toss out a few pennies.  They were caught like flies in the web of those habits, we soon discovered.  So we smiled graciously and thanked each one, much the way I'm smiling in this picture - with that "I've foresaken all worldly pleasures, don't you admire me?" kind of expression.  We had perfected it by watching the nuns for years.  My sister was a bit shorter, she seemed more pitiful for some reason.  What a couple of hams.

With ample pennies and even nickels rattling our bags, we decided to get bold and go for dimes - wow maybe even quarters - people were so generous!  Dreams of the "five & dime" penny-candy rolled happily through our young thoughts.  Isn't it odd how, as young children, you just don't see the folly in certain endeavors?  It never entered our nutty minds that the neighbors would obviously recognize us and call our Mother, which of course, someone eventually did.  And it was Mrs. Wiles, I'll never forget, I knew it was her by the look she gave us as she pulled into her driveway next to our house.  We didn't like the Wiles.  Her son, Billy, used to pee out of the attic window into the weeping willow tree that separated a part of our property.  

When we eventually had to pay the consequence of our well-planned, well-intentioned (for us) actions, something in my Mom gave way.  She got out her Kodak and took a few pictures, she just couldn't resist I suppose.  And I'm so grateful she did, as it brings back memories of an easy, protected time, a carefree exciting childhood about to break through into pre-teen angst.  And when that teenager appeared, she couldn't be controlled nor would she listen to anyone's advice. 

Though success did come through hard work, study, all the grown-up things one must do to secure a career, I shall never forget those easy summer days when, as a Dominican nun in my perfectly starched, pious, admirable habit, I had the world.