Neighborhood (Continued)

Sign Language

In Second Grade at Immaculate Conception, the good Sisters of Holy Names didn’t just enforce good writing and reading standards.  They guarded our morals with great watchfulness and certainty.   It after one recess that I learned how intent some were that no devilish behavior would creep into our lives.

A usual, the entire class of twenty-five, uniformly dressed  children were let out on the asphalt courts behind the three story building.   The girls were properly attired in blue skirts with blue sweaters.   Boys wore salt-n-pepper cords with a blue sweater over a white collared shirt.  

Recesses lasted about 20 minutes before we were called to line by a Sister Irma ringing a frantic bell.  We formed two lines…boys on one side and girls the other before climbing stairs to resume our catechism, arithmetic, reading or writing classes.  It was on on fatal day that I learned sign language.

Now, I tell you that Sister Irma was fearsome.  Tall and boney, she’d arch over you in her black and white habit.  With penetrating eyes, she’d scold about your mistakes, driving fear deep into your soul.

I climb the stairs returning to class when I whispered to Joe Caasi, my neighbor friend.,  “You see what those boys were doing?   I was referring to some eight graders who'd also been playing on the school grounds.

He should his head quietly.  “What?  Show me.”

I raised my right hand and motioned by lifting my middle finger toward the heavens. “This. What's it mean?”

The Wrath of God descended quickly.   Sister Irma’s voice pierced air, “Everyone into the classroom.. Take your seats.  Bobby Flor, wait here.”  I cowered in the hallway as she approached.  Standing over me, she began to poke her long index finger through my chest while she chanted over and over a mantra, “Bobby Flor, I never want to see you doing that again.”