The reluctant safety guard

I was educated in Catholic schools until I went to high school. There were many nuns at our school who came from Ireland and spoke with a brogue, including our English teacher, Sr. Margaret, who made us diagram sentence after sentence. I began to carry a ruler with me because I was unable to draw a straight line, much less all the lines off to the bottom, right, left and upwards for those adverbs, adjectives, etc. But I learned grammar.

There was Sr. Ellen, our math teacher, who gave up her afternoons to teach Calculus to those of us who wanted to learn. When I got to Rutgers and took Calculus, I already knew the material, thanks to her.

But it was our principal, Sr. Katherine, a quiet, reserved woman who spoke softly, who ruled with an iron - well- what I remember was her crucifix. In the lunch room when we were rowdy, she'd come up from behind and suddenly her crucifix would be over  a plate of spaghetti as she gently leaned over and said "Quiet down, children. Eat your food" to which we'd reply "Yes, Sister." Or her crucifix would appear at the doorway of a classroom when a teacher was late, the sun glinting off it as she said "This would be a good time for someone to lead a prayer, wouldn't it? " She was forever exhorting us to slow down, reflect, and pray about our choices.

I was called into her office after a "fight" on the playground. What happened was I was trying to defend a student who had cognitive limitations from being teased - and things got out of hand when I physically stepped between the girl and others. I was outnumbered and received the worst of it. I was only 12 and had no ideas about social justice at the time. All I knew was no one was going to pick on her on my watch.

Sr. Katherine asked me to sit down, then walked over to me and stood there. Her crucifix dangled in my face and I stared at Jesus. And I said "I'd do it again, Sister. I didn't do anything wrong." Then I sat there, wondering why I had to say that. I think Jesus rolled his eyes at me.

I thought she was going to suspend me. Many principals would have in those days, particularly after I talked to them that way.

I was immensely relieved when, in her quiet voice, she just said " I have something for you." Until I saw what she handed me. She  brought out a safety badge and belt, the ones that were worn by the kids who were on the safety guard and monitored the playground. Sr. Katherine laid it on my lap. "I'm giving you a job. This makes it official now. If you see someone being teased, report them and I'll take care of it."

I stared at the safety badge, then up at her. "Sister, I don't want to be a safety guard," I said. Safety guards had to be at school early and stay late. They gave up their lunch hours and recesses, all times when I could hunker down with a book. Those were my "reading times".

But Sr. Katherine stared out her window and didn't answer me. I knew from the set of her shoulders that this was not a volunteer position. So I got up and left her office.

I can't say I ever relished being a safety guard. I never got out of bed an hour early and thanked Sr. Katherine for her decision, nor did I like having to monitor my fellow students day after day.

I did, however, learn a few things - about restraint. About the right way to handle things. About how little kids look up to people in authority, and how authority can be used in a benevolent way. But, mostly, it taught me that mistakes are best handled as a learning experience, rather than through censure.

And I think this would be a better world if there were more Sr. Katherines in charge.

[visual description: A female student safety guard is shown. She is wearing an orange vest and holding a sign that reads 'Please pull forward and stay in line'.]