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Who Needs Armed Guards?


Subdeacon Joe

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7 minutes ago, Marshal Mo Hare, SASS #45984 said:

You’ve had a soft life.

 

I would have gladly gone to Parochial school if I wouldn’t have had to go home...and I’m not even Catholic.

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1 hour ago, Pat Riot, SASS #13748 said:

I would have gladly gone to Parochial school if I wouldn’t have had to go home...and I’m not even Catholic.

Paid for thirteen years noncatholic, out of parish.  Then The Kid converts.  I asked Sister for my money back -- didn't get it.

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There were many ex-sisters that were also at my school.  I was sponsored by the makers of rulers and pointers.  They hurt, but the pinch of hair on the back of your head was the killer.  When you have a sister lifting you out of your chair using this convenient handle all you could say was OOOWOW!  

 

STL Suomi

 

(Miss O'Sullivan and Miss Thomson never hit, pinched, or scolded me - they might say they were disappointed in my behavior, but no physical attempt to dissuade me - God keep them in His heart and write their name in the Book of Life.}

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Ya know, you Catholic boys and girls weren't the only ones rapped on the knuckles, given rooster tails, slapped, targeted with erasers (wooden backed ones), paddled, pinched under the arms, etc... My elementary and middle school teachers in Pennsylvania would give some nuns a run for their money, I am sure. But they did one thing that made things oh so much worse. They always called your parents when you got into any trouble or they inflicted any punishment on you.

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Ah, 1962 in Pottsgrove, PA public school; Mrs. Brooks, my 4th grade teacher, caught me passing notes with a certain blond-haired young lady - for the 10th or 12th time.  Determined to dissuade me from this path of misbehavior, she turned to the Board of Education.  No - not the school board....a paddle shaped like a cricket bat.  She made me lean over a desk and applied 5 or 6 swift strokes to the gluteus maximus.  The embarrassment was worse than the punishment.  She probably wanted to be a nun......

 

LL

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1 hour ago, Pat Riot, SASS #13748 said:

It just dawned on me that there isn't one lady here commenting which tells me I hang with a bunch of bad boys here. :lol:

I didn't go to Catholic school; but I had two teachers I hated.

 

I guess I was one of the bad girls. I got shook in kindergarten for being late. Sheesh! Miss Blizzard (great name) should have shook my mother. :D

 

In first grade, I had the audacity to ask to use the restroom during class, we were dancing. I was told no. I wet my pants. :blush:

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17 minutes ago, Allie Mo, SASS No. 25217 said:

I didn't go to Catholic school; but I had two teachers I hated.

 

I guess I was one of the bad girls. I got shook in kindergarten for being late. Sheesh! Miss Blizzard (great name) should have shook my mother. :D

 

In first grade, I had the audacity to ask to use the restroom during class, we were dancing. I was told no. I wet my pants. :blush:

I guess you showed her, huh? :lol:

 

Miss Blizzard. That's funny. I had a 3rd grade teacher named Mrs. Lively. She could swing a paddle pretty lively, I can tell you that. :D That woman was just plain mean.

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Our nuns were said to have apprenticed in German concentration camps.

They, of course, denied it.  "Vee haf alvays ben Sviss. Evah zince 1945...."


Our Lady of Perpetual Hell, 1974
nuns-with-guns-2.jpg

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1 hour ago, Subdeacon Joe said:

Uno, you beat me to it with that photo.

 

 

Don't Bingle "nuns with guns".  Just don't. You've been warned.   

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6 hours ago, Allie Mo, SASS No. 25217 said:

I didn't go to Catholic school; but I had two teachers I hated.

 

I guess I was one of the bad girls. I got shook in kindergarten for being late. Sheesh! Miss Blizzard (great name) should have shook my mother. :D

 

In first grade, I had the audacity to ask to use the restroom during class, we were dancing. I was told no. I wet my pants. :blush:

Had a 1st grade teacher that decided that I needed to be right handed like everybody else. 

 

Momma, who went through having her hand tied across her chest so she couldn't use it and being paddled daily for using her left hand in elementary school, asked me why I was trying to write with my right hand one day after school and I told her the teacher was making me do it in class. 

 

The next morning, Daddy took me to school for the first, last and only time of my academic career.  Usually, he left for work when I got up to get ready for school but this day, I didn't have to ride the bus.  I went to class, Daddy went to talk to Mr Henry, the principal.  A little while later, Mr Henry AND Daddy called my teacher out into the hallway and had a little talk.  While I couldn't hear what was said, by the hand motions my Dad was using (he likes to point at the ground when making a point and the harder he points, the more emphatic the point is being made), I'd dare say it was a Come To Jesus meeting sort of discussion.

 

After that day, I could have written with my feet as far as she was concerned.  She gave me C's in anything to do with writing but she left me alone otherwise.

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Attended parochial school, St Patrick Academy. Sorry to have heard it was torn down 2 years ago. Oh yes, there are many story I could tell about the rapping on the knuckles, the hair twist, etc. But also have a fond memory of Sister Theresa. She was very beautiful also and many of us boys always wondered why she became a nun, (we learned decades later, a sad story). Anyway, Sister Theresa one day went from class to class and talked of all things, firearm safety, especialy BB guns. During recess, she would set up paper targets set up on bales of straw and teach us boys how to properly handle BB guns. I thought she was awsome, and she showed us what a good shooter she was breaking Bayer aspirins, and tossing candy waifers into the air and hitting everyone of them.

I can say I never heard of any classmate going astray in adult life, and those years at St Patrick are fond years.  MT

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I had a second grade teacher who seemed to think my left knuckles were a great place to turn rulers into kindling:(

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My stint at parochial school was a short one.  I was raised bi-lingual German.  The only foreign language class the school had was French.  The nun kept complaining I was pronouncing my French words with a German accent.  I tried to explain that was the only way I knew.  She got so angry with me she pulled a pair of tailors shears out of her desk and proceeded to cut one of my long blond braids off at my collar.  {I think i was 6 or 7 at the time.}  That was my last day at that school.  I never had long hair after that either.

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