Each week, I'd prepare my class for the nun's arrival. We'd discuss the appropriate way to address her {Yes, Sister... No Sister} and questions not to ask {Don't you ever change your clothes?}. I'd carefully remind them not to correct her grammar or word choice {She is European, and English is very much NOT her first language}. To the class' credit, they'd adapted well to having her in and out each week. Most of her lessons closely mirrored our textbook and they were in awe of her clothing and lilting speech. In their innocent minds, she could have been the Virgin Mary - until the day she discussed All Souls Day.
Most Catholics know that All Souls Day and All Saints Day are inexplicably linked in Catholic school lessons. Though overshadowed by Halloween, they are important feast days and can occasionally get you out of school for at least an hour for mass. But Sister was adamant that all students {regardless of age, class, color, or creed} should know the importance of All Saints Day - and that ALL humanity could strive to sainthood and the glories of heaven. She painted a beautiful picture of angels, light, and love. It could have all ended blissfully and we could have gone right back to making construction paper witches. But then, she opened the floor for questions.
All teachers are aware of the dangers of allowing students to ask ANY questions - particularly if the topic is Religion at a school where many students are non-Catholic and think the crucifix is a "plus sign". Sister is the epitome of Julie Andrews/Maria naiveté though, and feels that honesty in all cases {especially those where immortal souls are involved} is imperative. So when one of my students earnestly mentioned how he was eager to get to heaven with the saints and his recently deceased dog, I knew that the bucolic picture being portrayed on my Calendar Carpet was about to come to a screeching halt that not even St. Michael the Archangel could stop.
Upon hearing the wee tot's comment, I abruptly stopped typing homework reminders and tried to catch the eye of the young nun. But it was too late, she was already talking - and what she said was the shot heard round the world to a group of seven year olds {and their fur baby loving teacher}.
"But your pet will not be there," her broken English explained. "Animals don't have souls."
The slow motion montage in my head began - me launching myself away from the computer and towards the Calendar Carpet. Going airborne to tackle Sister to the ground and shove a whiteboard eraser into her mouth. Clapping my hands over the ears of each child {impossibly} to block those words that were devastating to all of us. I was snapped out of my nightmare by the sound of uncontrollable, hysterical sobbing - a chorus of turmoiled children whose dogs, cats, and gerbils were now burning in the pits of Hell or languishing in Purgatory {the theme of last week's nun lesson}.
Sister looked at me with anxious eyes and scrambled to cover her ass. But it was too late. The damage had been done and the children were having none of her backtracking. As I hurried her into the corner she looked at me and asked innocently - "but what I should have done? Lie to them?"
YES! Unequivocally, irrevocably, unabashedly YES. You should have lied. Or better yet you should have DIVERTED. The top tool of teachers everywhere who come upon a question that is not appropriate or that will open the proverbial Pandora's Box. You point out the amazingly shiny rosary beads in your pocket or that it is snack time. But you DO NOT {under any circumstances} open your mouth to insert your foot. And this is why teaching our youth should not be left to amateurs.
After ushering our guest out, I swept back to the sea of tears to do damage control. One of my faves {we all have them - don't lie} looked up at me with tear-streaked cheeks and blubbered, "But my M-m-mom said he was in HEAVEN!" before falling into a fresh deluge of waterworks. And those tears, paired with my own steadfast belief propelled me into a sermon for the ages...
"Well what do Y'ALL think?!" I postured vehemently. "Because I think that if God gave us such amazing friends with four legs that we love so much that He would NOT take them from us forever. God made them each special and unique - just like us. And none of us have even BEEN to Heaven. Not even her." And with that I folded my arms with a "that's that" air of finality and led the way back to construction paper witches.
As we picked up the pieces and rewrote Catholic doctrine, another small voiced piped up amid the hum of happy work. "Mrs. Perin is right... Someone should show Sister that movie we watched in first grade... "All Dogs Go to Heaven". Damn straight, Kid - I thought as I returned to my homework reminders. Because if Heaven doesn't have four-legged greeters, I'd just as soon stay home.
XO,
