My mother was Sweedish and my father was Irish. There were eight of us – two parents and six kids, one bathroom, getting ready for school was hectic. My brother was lucky if he ever got to see the inside of the bathroom.
We went to a parochial school taught by an order I like to call The Bitches of Notre Dame. In first graders were told that if we misbehaved we would be sent to the attic where The Spanking Machine would turn us into butter and the milkman would deliver us to our home. By the time we were six years old we were traumatized and terrorized by these oddly dressed people who smelled funny and were suppose to be our trusted teachers.
The nuns carried clickers at all times. They used them as a signal indicating: sit, stand, get in line, be quiet, pretty much any command. in addition to commands the clicker was used when disciplining a child. Second graders were taught the Palmer Penmanship method of handwriting. The first lessons were practicing drawing ovals and pushups. If the nun wasn’t happy with your work that clicker would be cracked over the victims nuckles, I can still hear the crack!
Those were the good old dats—–when child abuse was called discipline,
By the time we were promoted to the third grade, we were beaten down, our minds and personalities replaced by little Catholic people able to regurgitate everything we were taught. The worst part was that we realized there was a conspiracy and our parents were involved!
Our brother has been gone for several years now but when my sisters and I get together we’re laughing about those Bitches until we’re crying, peeing or both!