One of the things that I remember most from second grade is the smell of that stuff the nuns used when a kid threw up. You never smelled the vomit because Sister had the saw dust out so quickly.
I always felt bad for a kid who heaved chunks across those shiny Catholic school floors. Immediately after your classmate got sick a squadron of sisters would rush to the scene. The apprentice nun was usually responsible for the quick cover up and removal of the pile of spew.
I witnessed first hand the disappearance of a third grader by the name of Ronnie Sanguchi. I was walking to the principal’s office, Sister Mary Iron Pants to tell her I was being a little prick in Sister Adolph Kathleen’s classroom.
As I was walking down the hallway, the third grade door flew open and in a flash “TheGooch” was gone. Taken away in a blaze of habits and rosary beads.
We never saw Ronnie Gooch again.
Actually, he was back three days later after his fever was gone, but to a second grader that was forever.
I never wanted to throw up in school because of the fear of being taken to the bowels of the convent. Where you would be cleansed from the sin of hurling chewed up peanut butter and jelly… it scared the living shit out of me.
I would miss my parents. I would never sleep in my bed again. I would become vomit dust and I didn’t want to become vomit dust.
There was a rumor that when a kid threw up in the Catholic school he would be taken somewhere and turned into the crap nuns sprinkled over vomit. I could never end up a convent casualty. I had to make sure to never vomit on school property.
Until the day my mom sent me to school when I wasn’t feeling well. My mom wasn’t buying my story and she sent me to school anyway. It was a cold Tuesday morning in the February of second grade.
I felt like fucking shit, but I couldn’t tell Sister Brown Shirt that I was sick. It would mean immediate death.
I marched onward like any good Christian soldier was taught to do. I did my math problems, I learned my cursive and I read parables.
Lunch rolled around and I opened my Snoopy lunchbox and began to eat. I had a pb&j, Jays potato chips, a SuzieQ and an apple.
I opened up my sandwich and sprinkled a few chips on the jelly side, we called that Catholic lettuce.
I took three bites of my lunch and the trigger in my throat went off.
I took four steps to the classroom door… then suddenly in slow motion, I pasted the pictures of Abe Lincoln and George Washington. The presidents were covered in chunks of chewed Wonder Bread and gallons of toxic tummy spray.
I was doomed to join “Gooch” in the container of vomit dust.
Out came the orange colored granules and off went little John Shepley surrounded by habits and rosary beads.
I could hear one of the sisters belting out “Hail Mary’s,” I knew then I would never make it home.
They brought me to the big door at the end of the hallway. We entered and all I heard was Gregorian Chant.
Sister Mary Iron Pants sat me down and started wiping my face and rubbing the nape of my neck. Sister MIP was actually trying to ease my suffering. She gave me a plastic cup of water that was the most refreshing water I had ever tasted in my seven and a half years of life. It had to be Holy Water or something close to it.
Sister Golgotha handed Sister MIP a fresh wash cloth and put a thermometer under my tongue. I had a temperature of 103 degrees. I overheard from behind a nun say that she will call Johnny’s mom.
That was the first time I heard a nun call me by my first name. Usually it was Master Shepley, Mister Shepley or Satan Shepley.
From then on out I was called Johnny by the habits and rosary squad. For the rest of my Catholic school days I knew those tough broads were there to make me a solid Christian soldier.
Holy water and orange puke dust!
Don’t leave home without it….
Today is National Mother in law day. Even though I’m not married anymore, I still have a Mother in law and just like nuns, the myths are all false. The one assigned to me on my wedding day was very similar to Sister Mary Iron Pants. She came off tough, but was caring in the long run.
I’d love to take Mrs. Bergmann for a burger at the York Tavern today, but it would probably piss off her daughter.
Happy Sunday Funday…. Two weeks from today, seven in the morning will be six in the morning. Unfortunately six in the evening will be five in the evening and it will be dark outside.
That’s alright because soon Mariah will be telling me that all she wants for Christmas is JumboLove.
Go out and put the smile on the sun….
…and if you have a Mother in law, give her a call and thank her for raising a great child, your spouse.
Sometimes you just gotta take the liberty of bullshitting.
