“Shamrocks”

The Catholic K-12 Experience

By Sara McDermott

According to the National Catholic Education Association (www.ncea.org) National Catholic Schools Week is the annual celebration of Catholic education.  It starts the last Sunday in January and runs all week.  In 2019 that was January 27th through February 2nd.  Who knew?

The theme for National Catholic Schools Week 2019 is “Catholic Schools Learn, Serve, Lead, Succeed.”  With that in mind I offer my experience at St. Patrick’s K-12 Catholic School.

From the 1930’s to the 1960’s St. Patrick’s was a co-ed institution that introduced me to the world of education, and prepared me for the future.  From the separate entrances for boys and girls to the old playground with no equipment , the Catholic school emphasized strict moral values and a dedication to the business of learning. Recess and playtime ran a distant second to the ABC’s and the daily dose of catechism that kept us straight.  If, today, those things seem too strict, and if today, I even resent some of the narrow rules and regulations imposed by the religion, those 12 years of discipline had a more positive than negative effect on me.  They gave me a sense of the importance of self-reliance and the work that makes it possible.  A conscientious approach to my job made an independent life possible for me;  maybe to some, I am a touch too independent, but I worked for it, I enjoy it, and the lifestyle suits me.

The Catholic schools were both patriotic and devout.  Every day we said the Pledge of Allegiance followed by a prayer and, from about first grade on, catechism was always the first class of the day.  The little catechism book told us of both sin and repentance.  I learned the difference between mortal and venial sin and how to rid myself of both.  By the age of seven we were ready for our first communion.  According to Catholic teaching seven is the age of reason, at which time I was expected to answer for myself in the confessional.  From then on sin weighed heavily on my mind, but there was always the understanding priest ready to whisk away the guilt with a few prayers of penance.  I was an adult before I began to question anything, so confession probably made my sleep easier and my life more peaceful.

At the age of 13 I was confirmed.  It meant extra catechism classes and the taking of a saint’s name.  I chose Catherine because it was my grandmother’s name.  So I’m Sara Michaeleen Catherine McDermott.  Try to get that on a license plate.

The nuns had their dress code to put up with and so did I.  That could be why blue and white uniforms were imposed upon us. More likely it was to teach us that a neat appearance is part of an orderly, disciplined life.  Anyway, for 12 years I wore some combination of navy blue combined with some sort of white blouse.  The boys didn’t have to wear uniforms and it annoyed me, but, since I didn’t embrace feminism until much later, I kept my thoughts to myself.

Daily mass for kids in Catholic school was encouraged but not obligatory.  Sunday mass was a different story.  I don’t remember ever being sick enough to skip mass on Sunday.  I took two years of Latin so, by the time I graduated, I could follow the mass in my missal on the Latin side of the page. (The missal provided both Latin and English when the mass was conducted in Latin).  When someone died and there wasn’t anyone to respond to the Requiem chants, it wasn’t unusual for the priest to call the junior or senior class over to the church to fill in.  I couldn’t sing, but it didn’t matter.  The whole high school only numbered about 150 students so anyone who wanted to could get in to the glee club.  I liked glee club.  It was more fun than physical education.  I hated playing sports.

As for other forms of entertainment there was always one place I could go when I was old enough to get out of the house – basketball games.  The St. Patrick’s Shamrocks afforded me a place to see friends and have fun.

The old gym looked small several years ago at the all St. Pat’s reunion.  For some reason, as I looked out over the old wood floor, I remembered something the players used to do before free throws.  They would make the sign of the cross, as if God would help them make the point.  That is how steeped in religion we were.

Catholic school wasn’t all work and no play.  We had sock hops.  It wasn’t as dumb as it sounds since the reason for dancing in our socks was to preserve the gym floor.

Rock and roll was new, Eisenhower was in the White House and anyone with a high-school education could get a decent job.  At graduation I felt I was armed with a good education and reasonably ethical behavior.  It proved true enough as I held a job for forty years and mostly kept out of trouble.

Growing up a Catholic kid in a Catholic school some 65 years ago endowed me with a decent work ethic, a fair amount of self discipline , and a respect for learning that has resulted in a post-retirement college education.  Most likely I can thank the nuns for the fact that I retain the basic desire to work up to my potential.