Life Lessons Learned

Life Lessons Learned

Marguerite Schneider

It was the mid-1960s in Queens, NY, one of New York City’s “outer boroughs”, those parts of the City that closely surround the island of Manhattan but were then worlds apart from it.  Back then, few people from Queens ever elected to be in Manhattan, except for perhaps the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade or the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.  While Queens would come to have one of the most diverse populations in the US, folks back then were comfortable staying in their largely Catholic, white, working class community, where life was quite predictable and one’s intellect was rarely challenged by new experiences.  The societal upheaval of the late 1960s had yet to happen.  

Two young girls of approximately ten years of age were classmates and friends at Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal School.  Mary was a kind, sweet, fun girl with a smile so warm that it made anyone being smiled at feel special.  She was a mediocre-to-good student and was occasionally in trouble for small things, such as passing notes in class, but was never in trouble for big things, such as cursing or fighting.  Everyone liked Mary, so that she was very popular.  Margaret was a smart girl, nearly always at the top of her class.  She was quiet, reserved, more like an adult in some regards than a child should be.  Margaret was never in trouble.  Never.  No one would say that Margaret was much fun.  She was not so popular, the fate of most goody two-shoe types, and was astonished that popular Mary was among her friends. The girls were blessed with Sister Agnes Mary as their teacher, who taught well and was kind and understanding.  She wasn’t one of the mean nuns who seemed to hate children.  Sister was a very petite, energetic woman.  A few of the young students towered over her, and from a distance she could be mistaken for a child wearing a Halloween costume instead of an authentic nun.  

It was a warm late spring afternoon.  The entire class was a bit wild, thinking about their soon-to-be summer break.  Sister Agnes Mary was having difficulty holding the class’s attention.  Every time she turned around to write on the board, hell would start to break loose.  She heard much whispering, even some light laughter.  She saw notes being passed out of the corner of her eye.  Sister has asked, begged, and beseeched the class to quiet down and pay attention, she has even threatened to bring the disciplinarian Principal to the class if the situation continued.  The class tried to quiet down, and did so for a bit, but then the mayhem re-emerged. 

Inexplicably, Margaret got caught up in the mood of the class and decided to pass a note.  Rather, she decided to write a note and then pass it.  Maybe the devil made her do it.  This is the same Margaret who earlier that afternoon had engaged in her typical refusal to accept several notes from others that had come her way, sneering slightly at the note sender. 

Margaret scribbled a few lines on a small piece of paper and passed it to Mary.  Mary read Margaret’s note, and both girls broke out into uncontrollable, raucous laughter.  They tried and tried to stop, but their attempts were to no avail.  And being that laughter is contagious, many in the class joined in, though they had no idea what the laughter was about.  

Sister Agnes Mary was overcome with frustration.  She stopped teaching and stared straight at Mary, with a surprisingly stern face for Sister Agnes Mary.

“Mary, what is so funny?  Please read the note to us.”

Mary shook with fright.  She was so scared that she couldn’t speak.  

Sister was to prove guilty of relying on past patterns of behavior to render a judgment, as adults tend to do with children.  Mary was a good girl but occasionally erred.  Margaret never erred.  

“Mary, the entire class wants to know what is written on the note that you shared with Margaret.  I’m surprised at you, Margaret, for participating in this, but I know that Mary wrote the note sure as I know that no one has paid any attention to their lessons this afternoon!”

Mary continued shaking.  Sister walked to Mary’s desk and grabbed the note out of her hand. 

“Well class, here is what the note says,” she exclaimed, making the exclamation before she read the note to herself, which was surely a mistake. 

“Beans, beans, are good for your heart,

The more you eat them, the more you fart.”

Despite their best attempts to be stoic, everyone in the class burst out into boisterous laughter, with tears rolling down many cheeks.  The note itself was hilarious, but that Sister Agnes Mary read it aloud including the word ‘fart’ made it outrageously hysterical.   

Sister Agnes Mary was so angry, with her stern red face looking as if it might explode, that the class soon quieted down, becoming frightened at the thought of what might unfold. 

“Mary, this is a very rude note, I’m so surprised at you!  Why did you write this?”

“Sister Agnes Mary, I didn’t write the note, Margaret wrote it and handed it to me.  Please believe me,  I wouldn’t lie to you!”

“Well, that’s quite a story.  Margaret, did you write the note and pass it to Mary?”

This was Margaret’s moment to do the right thing, to tell the truth and face the consequences for her actions.  Did the goody two-shoes have it in her to tell the truth?  

“Sister Agnes Mary, I didn’t write the note.  I never write notes in class.  Mary handed me the note, even though I told her I didn’t want it.  I passed it back to her.”

While Margaret spoke, Mary pointed at her and softly whispered, “You know that you did it, you know that you’re lying.”

Ah, poor Sister Agnes Mary needed to have the wisdom of Solomon, a phrase from a tale in the Old Testament, to decipher this finger-pointing.  Sister was wise, but not as wise as Solomon.  She looked sternly at Mary. 

“Mary, I believe that you wrote the rude note and passed it to Margaret, so you’re largely to blame.”  

Sister Agnes Mary then glowered at Margaret, seeming to stare into her soul.   “Margaret, you know better than to get involved in such things.  So, you share some of the blame!” 

Sister studied the two girls.  They were shaking, pale white, and appeared as if they might vomit from being so upset, from the spectacle of the situation.  Wise Sister Agnes Mary realized that the girls had suffered enough, and the spectacle needed to end.  

“Girls, there will be no punishment for this, no detention, no meeting with the Principal.  I won’t call your parents.  But I do want each of you to say ten extra Hail Marys tonight before bed, so that God forgives you, as I forgive you.

“Class, this likely wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t behaved so badly all afternoon!  So, each of the rest of you is to say ten extra Hail Marys tonight as well.

“Now, let’s get back to our lessons, and let’s pay attention this time!”

The spectacle was never again mentioned by Sister Agnes Mary or by any of the other students.  

When the school day ended, Mary and Margaret didn’t speak to each other.  Margaret was consumed by guilt but was not sufficiently consumed to confess the truth to Sister Agnes Mary.  It’s hard being the bad one when you’ve never before been the bad one.  And Margaret was worried that Mary would shun her for the betrayal, which would have been deserved.  

The girls didn’t speak for a few days, but then started to smile and wave to each other.  

Within a few days, Mary – kind, sweet Mary – approached Margaret as if the spectacle had never happened.  Margaret marveled at Mary’s ability to forgive her.  Their relationship was of course changed, as significant events tend to alter relationships, but they continued to be friends. 

As an adult, Margaret thought of this event now and then, pondering what would have happened if one of the mean nuns had been involved; the consequences for her behavior and the lie to protect herself would have been far worse.  And poor Mary would likely have borne the brunt of the far worse consequences for something she didn’t do.  Margaret learned about truth and honesty from the event and never again blamed others for her own actions.   She also learned the power of forgiveness from both Mary and from Sister Agnes Mary. 

It’s ironic, Margaret thought.  All of that fire and brimstone in our catechisms, all of the rules to follow, and so much of it was meaningless.  I learned about doing the right thing, taking ownership of actions, the generosity of forgiveness, becoming a better person, and many other life lessons, not from a school catechism or a church sermon, but from a single event of childish misbehavior.