Everybody Calls Me Father

My 8th grade teacher at Holy Cross was Sister Mary Norberta of the Mercy nuns. I remember her gentle, kind smile and her loving approach to teaching us. Of course, I was a 14 year old boy not much interested in learning—more about that later. Her focus was on Jesus through prayers, words and actions. Faith, humility and reverence were modeled every day for us. She ran a tight ship but every nun did. I had the great good fortune of 11 years after being taught by Sister Norberta, of doing my first year of teaching at Holy Cross as Norberta’s grade partner. I had 50 students in my class and she had 15. Now that may sound unfair but it really wasn’t. Sister was given all the kids who had problems—social, educational, discipline-some with broken homes and broken lives. She had her 15 spread out across the classroom- no one within three seats of another. When we went to Church for Mass or Confession she would seat the kids two in a row, every other row. She ran a very disciplined classroom, never raising her voice, always working with the children on their lessons in a very caring but strict atmosphere. She loved those kids and the kids loved her and would do anything for her. The great lessons of faith, reverence and humility were again modeled that year for not only the students but also for me. I once asked her about rules for the classroom. She said “The fewer rules the better. You should expect good behavior and they should give it.” Loving respect both ways accomplished miracles that year. I remember sitting at lunch with Sister one day and going over our reading program for the 8th grade. I made the mistake of saying to her that when I was in 8th grade in her room I sat in the back in a group of 60 and spent most of the class reading books on my lap while she tried to teach us English grammar. I read most of the 22 Tarzan books that year. Norberta laughed as I told her, then got up out of her chair and came over to my chair and whacked me. She said, “I may be late, but I got you.” I tell that story to my students today and explain that it is an example of the long arm of justice—it eventually catches up with all of us.

I wrote this story about Norberta in December of 2013 during Advent, a time of expectancy; a time for readiness to welcome the savior of the world, Jesus. I remember sitting in front of my computer that day looking at the simple Holy card given out at Sister Norberta’s funeral two weeks before. It has the poetic words, “All for Jesus through Mary,” and a picture of a smiling Norberta. I think of all the children who sat in those worn, wooden desks in Holy Cross whose greatest learning from Norberta was probably the real message of Advent—Faith. Advent is a time when we can be shaken by an earthquake or a gentle nudge, to remember our faith and try to live it. Sometimes I need an earthquake, but in 8th grade those many years ago, all I needed was a gentle nudge.