SMILEY FACE

     I am pretty sure that I went to college.  I have a diploma that proves that I did.  I don’t remember too much about it really.  My friends tell me I had a wonderful time though.  My major was political science.  I remember nothing.  Spanish?  Cerveza is all I got.  Math?  My brain is empty.  My kids don’t believe I ever finished high school.  It amazes me today what I have forgotten and what I can remember.  Of course I cannot remember many of the things I have forgotten and I am grateful for that.

     The college that I went to was very small.  It was in a little town in Virginia.  There was not much in terms of a social life off of our campus.  Because of that, social activities revolved around the campus.  At the center of our social life, in those days, were fraternities.  It was obvious to me that I wanted to join a fraternity as quickly as possible.  At that time, I was a social animal, social was my minor, and animal was my major.  I had to make a choice, though, as far as what fraternity I wanted to pledge.  I had narrowed down the list in the first few weeks of college to two fraternities. 

     Fraternities tend to take on the identity of the brothers that make them up.  There was the fraternity with the smart guys.  That one was out.  I did not qualify.  A couple of fraternities were comprised of well-heeled and wealthy guys.  That was out too. I did not qualify on either count. There was a geek fraternity.  I did not qualify for that one at the time, though I do now. I wanted to find a fraternity that had the same priorities that I had. I was looking for a fraternity full of guys that liked to drink and chase girls, and not always in that order.  A fraternity that knew how to throw a party at a moment’s notice.  A fraternity that was made up of guys who would cut class to go fishing and drink beer or just cut class and drink beer.  I had narrowed it down to two. College is full of tough decisions.  

     I have learned, that if you can be patient, the decision will make itself for you.

     I was walking back to my dorm very early one morning.  I forget where I was coming from, but it is likely that even if I could remember where I was coming from, I would never admit to it in writing.  I may have been doing something commonly referred to as the “Walk of Shame” had I not used up all of my shame in high school.  I had no shame left.

     There was no one on the street but me.  It was quiet as I recall; the sun was just starting to come up and I could hear the birds chirping.  On the other side of the street was one of the fraternity mascot dogs heading back home.  The dog and I looked at each other for a second and shared a silent pledge to never tell anyone that we saw each other on the Walk of Shame.  It would have been very peaceful if it weren’t for the sound of a commercial riding lawn mower bouncing up the street behind me.  I turned around to see if the person riding the lawnmower was anyone I knew, hoping to catch a ride maybe.  He was still a few blocks away, but I could see the driver as clear as day.

     He was smiling.  It was not a normal smile.  His was a maniacal, satanic smile.  He always had that smile on his face.  It never changed.  Because of that smile and his diminutive stature, he was known all over campus as Smiley.  He was on the landscaping crew at the college.  Smiley was never regarded warmly by anyone.  He was known to lurk and linger anywhere that there may be women, leer at them and make snapping sounds with his tongue.  He was also known to cut the lawns in the courtyards of the dorms at ungodly early hours of the morning.  He zipped past me, smiling his lunatic smile and looking at me with his bulging, insane eyeballs.  He turned right, into the driveway and up onto the sidewalk.  He stopped for just a second, lowered the blades to the lawnmower, took off his green John Deere baseball cap, spit into it and put it back on.  I have no idea what that was all about, and it made me gag a bit.  Then he put the mower into gear and he was off.  

     He started at the center of the courtyard and worked his way outward.  There was a women’s dorm at the closed end of the court yard, a men’s dorm on right side, and a women’s dorm on the left.  The first beer can that flew out of a window missed his head by a few inches.  It was full, so it could not have possibly been thrown by anyone I knew.  I stopped and leaned on a sign post next to the sidewalk to watch.  I didn’t know what was going to happen exactly, but I knew enough to know that I wanted to watch it.  

    

Each dorm room had two windows and each window had a set of the old metal venetian blinds.  Most of the students raised their venetian blinds to throw things at Smiley and you could hear the sound of those old metal blinds being pulled up over the roar of his lawn mower.  One window in the men’s dorm remained closed, though, and that guy was just throwing things right through the venetian blinds.  There was a biology 101 text book that missed way to the right.  A bra flew out of one of the windows of the men’s dorm like a Frisbee.  Then a real Frisbee flew out of one of the windows of the women’s dorm.

     Smiley dodged them all and kept cutting the lawn like a demon.  He was hunkered down over the steering wheel with that smile on his face like he was driving a stolen Nascar.  He did not stop for the things that missed him; he just ran them over.  It made a dreadful sound when he did that.  The shrapnel that came out was kind of pretty though.  His circles were getting wider and wider and as they did, it brought him closer to the windows of each dorm.  Someone caught him in the side of his head with a tennis ball, but he shook it off and then ran it over on his next pass.  The next time he passed, an arm shot out of the window with the closed venetian blinds and tried to grab him.  The arm was not long enough.  

     It was long enough on Smiley’s next pass.  That arm shot out of that window at lightning speed.  It was like a blur when it caught Smiley square in the chest and knocked him clear off his seat.  He hit the ground behind the lawnmower.  The lawnmower kept going until it hit one of the columns at the entrance to the dorm.  The engine kept running and the wheels started to spin.  The arm sticking out of the window through the venetian blinds was flailing around wildly, trying to grab Smiley. Smiley stood up and moved to retrieve his lawnmower.  Before he could take a step though, a second arm appeared through the venetian blinds.  The two arms grabbed Smiley by his shoulders and in one smooth motion pulled him through the venetian blinds.  

     It happened so quickly that at first I thought that Smiley had simply disappeared.  One second he was standing there, smiling; the next second he had vanished into thin air.  I had never seen anything like that in my life.  The lawn mower was starting to shake and smoke.  I was wondering if I should just walk away or go over and turn off the lawn mower, when Smiley bolted out of the door.  He had a look of complete and total horror on his face.  He was still smiling but his hat was gone.  He jumped back on his lawn mower and drove off.  I was awestruck.  I had to find out who had done that.  That guy was my hero.

     I walked into the dorm just as an upperclassman named Woody was walking out of his room in green and red plaid boxer shorts.  Woody looked at me, walked over to the trash can in the hallway and threw Smiley's green John Deere baseball cap into the trash can.  He nodded to me, I nodded to him, and he went back into his room and closed the door.  My decision on what fraternity to pledge was made.  I would pledge the fraternity that Woody belonged to.

     If you are patient, decisions tend to make themselves for you.  

     That is all.

DAMN NUNS

     I sat down in my therapist’s office.  Mrs. Smartypants was her name.  We had made zero progress in all of our previous sessions.  She begged me to keep coming to see her, though.  She said that of all of her patients, I was her favorite.  She assured me that my great medical insurance had nothing to do with it.  I thought she only wanted me to continue because I made her laugh.  She always made it a point to say that she was laughing with me, not at me.  Every time she said that, though, I noticed that she was the only one laughing.

     One morning, when I went to sit down in her office, I spilled my coffee.  “Damn Nuns.”  I said under my breath.  Mrs. Smartypants froze solid and her eyes opened wide.

     “What did you just say?” she asked me.

     “What do you mean, what did I just say?” I asked.

     “You just said something.  What did you just say?”

     “I didn’t say anything.”

     “Yes, you did Tony.  I heard you.  What did you just say?”

     “Well Mrs. Smartypants, if you heard me say what I did not say, then why don’t you tell me what it was you think you heard me say?” I said as smugly as I possibly could.

     “You said ‘Damn Nuns’.” Mrs. Smartypants answered.

     All of the air in me left.  In a split second all of the air around me vanished too.  I plopped back down on the couch and stared at the coffee dripping from the coffee table onto the carpet.  I was frozen.  I looked at Mrs. Smartypants.  She was smiling back at me.  I needed air.

     “Tony, tell me about the ‘Damn Nuns’."

     I sat there for a second to let the air come back.  And when the air came back, I filled it up with stories about the Damn Nuns.  Mrs. Smartypants was about to earn her money.

     I told her about my friend Albert in the first grade.  He had twice raised his hand and asked if he could go to the bathroom.  Sister Caesar Augustus told him each time that he had to wait until recess, when everyone else went to the bathroom.  Those were the rules, she explained, and they were to be followed at all times.  If you didn’t follow the rules, God would be unhappy, and we all knew where you went if God was unhappy.  H, E, Double Hockey Sticks, that’s where.  When Albert peed in his pants so he wouldn’t go to Hell, she made him wear diapers over his uniform pants.  Albert didn’t come back for second grade.  I hope he is doing well.

     In second grade, it was Sister Genghis Khan who forced my left handed brother to do everything right handed and then nearly failed him for his penmanship.  My mother almost fought Sister Khan on the playground about that after school one day.   My friend Jimmy Donovan and I hoped they would fight.  They didn’t, though.  My brother is an amazing artist, though he seldom draws anymore.  I hope he starts drawing again soon.

     The Nuns taught us how to pray too.  I had to learn the prayers by heart.  If I didn’t I would get smacked on the head with an eraser.  From first grade to sixth grade I left school every day with a headache and white hair.  I was guilted and shamed into submission, year after year.  Class after class.  So I learned.  I learned everything there is about Math, and English, and Science, and History, and especially Religion.  The Damn Nuns made me a scholar in short order.  And I learned.  In those days no child was left behind.  If they fell behind, they were bound and gagged and dragged along with the rest of us.  ADD was addressed by standing in a corner with the eraser from the chalkboard stuffed in your mouth.  HDD was addressed by being tied to your desk.  Autism was not even a word then.

     And I learned.  I learned that I was Damned if I did and Damned if I didn’t.  I began to refer to them all as The Damn Nuns.  My creativity was deafened by their screams for conformity.  My individuality was torpedoed and left to drown in their sea of blind obedience.  It wasn’t just in school.  The nun that tutored me in algebra was a relative.  I learned the most from her.  She was the straw that broke my back.  I watched her cheat every time we played Monopoly.  I listened to her say that lying was a sin and then watched her lie and lie.  I heard her say to always forgive and never saw her forgive a single soul.  She preached to never turn your back on the needy and I watched her turn her back on those who needed help the most.  Damn Nuns.  They taught me everything I know, and all it cost was a lifetime of guilt and shame and resentment.  A bag of guilt in one hand, a bag of shame in the other, and a bundle of resentments balanced on the top of my head like those women you see pictures of in National Geographic.  Damn Nuns.

     I told Mrs. Smartypants all of that in one breath too.  She was still smiling.

     “Did you ever know a good nun, Tony?” She asked.

     “Yes.”  I answered.

     “Tell me about her.”

     “Sister Helen, she was president of a hospital. I saw her not long ago.”

     “Is she the only good nun you have ever known?”

     “No.”

     “There is another good nun?”

     “Sister Carol.  She is the president of the high school my oldest daughter, Sissy, went to.  She is a good nun.”

     “That’s all of them then.  Two?”

     “No, Sister Irene is a good nun. She is the principal at the school my youngest daughter, Sugar went to. Sugar loved her when she went there and she still hugs Sister Irene every time she sees her.”

     “Ok Tony.  So, you know three good nuns. Now...”

    

Sister Mary Lou

“Four.” I interrupted.

     “Four?  There is another one?”

     “Sister Mary Lou.  Her real name was Sister Mary Louise, but she said it was ok if we called her Sister Mary Lou.  She was my favorite nun.  She liked to laugh and she liked to talk.  She would talk about most anything.  Some days we would get her talking and we wouldn’t even have class.  We would just talk.  I learned more from her in one year than I had in all of the years before that.  I remember that she was grading a paper that I had written. ‘Tony, did you write this?’ she said.   I just stared at her.  She had a trained eye, so it was easy for her to see the guilt and shame that was written all over my face.  Then she said, ‘Ok then, who is “Mr. Mojo” and why exactly would he be “Rising”?”

     Mrs. Smartypants laughed.  “I was laughing with you, not at you.”  I was not laughing at all.  I was back in the eighth grade.  I kept going.

     “I was busted.  I had a solid C in her writing class and a C to me was like an A to the smart kids.  Trying to stretch that C into a B with a little help from The Doors had taken me too far.  But she did the most amazing thing.  She didn’t punish me or remind me that I was heading to Hell with a hand basket.”

     “What did she do then?”

     “She told me that she knew that I could write.  Then she told me that to be a good writer I just had to write what I felt.  Writing always helps you feel better, she said.  When you feel bad write about it and you will feel better.  And when you feel good write about that too, and then maybe someone else will feel better.  If you have a question write about it and you just might find the answer.  She told me that writing could set me free.  I loved that nun.  Sister Mary Lou was the greatest Nun I have ever known.”

     “Four then?  Four good nuns?

     “That is all I can think of.”

     “Tony, tell me in one sentence, what did the Damn Nuns do to you that makes them bad?

     I laughed at Mrs. Smartypants this time.  “They gave me a bag full of guilt and a bag full of shame and a bundle of resentment and told me I had to carry them forever.”

     “Ok. What did the good nuns do to you that makes them good?”  I looked at her.  I had nothing.  “What did the good nuns do that made them good?” she asked again.

     I still had nothing.

     Mrs. Smartypants laughed and said, “I am not laughing with you this time, I am laughing at you this time, Tony.  The good nuns are good nuns because they made you feel good.  Nuns are people.  They are people before they are nuns.  They are good nuns and Damn Nuns because they are people.  People make mistakes.  What people were and what they did in the past makes no difference now.  That was then, this is now.  Let the Damn Nuns go.  Keep the good nuns.  Stop looking at yesterday’s problems and start looking for today’s answers.  Why is Sister Mary Lou your favorite?  Sister Mary Lou is your favorite nun because Sister Mary Lou gave you the answer to all of your problems.  That’s why she is your favorite.  She told you what you need to do.  All you have to do is do it.”

     Just like that it all clicked.  Mrs. Smartypants was right.  I started writing.  I will never stop, either.  Writing has set me free.  That bag of guilt?  Gone.  That bag of shame?  Gone.  That bundle of resentments?  This is it.  Right here and right now. This is the last one.  The last one left.  And when I post this piece, thanks to the greatest Nun I have ever known, I will be free.   Good people don’t tell you to deal with their baggage.  Good people help you deal with your own baggage.

     That is all.

Afterword

I must point out that I realize the Damn Nuns meant well.  I must also point out that the Damn Nuns were only doing what Damn Nuns had been doing for years. I must mention, as well, that the teaching ability of those Damn Nuns was amazing. I use what those Damn Nuns taught me every day.  The most important thing I must point out though is that some of the Damn Nuns that I mentioned were the greatest nuns of all time to some of their other students.  So I am grateful for those Damn Nuns today. The days of the Damn Nuns are gone now. God Bless'em.

Not only is Sr. Mary Lou one of my heroes, Sr. Mary Lou continued teaching until recently. She was diagnosed with cancer and after a hard fought battle, she went home.  Before she passed I was able to speak with her on the phone.  I was surprised that she remembered me. She sounded exactly the same as I remembered her. I told her how much she meant to me and how she impacted my life.  I thanked her for that.  Like most good Nuns, she was uncomfortable with praise.  Humility.  We spoke about other things too.  Important things. Life things. 

When we said good bye, I knew it would be the last time that I would ever speak to her.  And as I sat there, after I hung up the phone, my mind began to overflow with memories I never knew that I had, and my eyes overflowed a little as well.  I said a prayer to make sure God knew that she was one of the good Nuns, then I replayed our conversation again in mind.  And then again. And again. Our phone call was so perfect somehow, that I decided right there and then, that I would not go to her funeral.  

I didn't need closure. Sr. Mary Lou gave me that during our phone call.  

I didn't need to pay my last respects. My respect for her will never end.