Sister Emilita D'Entrement

My first long-term relationship outside of my family unit was with my grade primary to grade four teacher. The Catholic Church operated most of the elementary schools in our province during the 1960's and the nuns were the teachers. Laying the foundation for all learning experiences related to the outside world was the purview of Sister Emilita D'Entremont.

At four foot eight and ninety pounds, Sister Emilita could not exactly be called an imposing figure. However, hidden under the garb of her order, there was an impressive human being who exuded confidence, spirituality, determination, and enormous knowledge of human nature and how the world around us works. When teaching the mechanics of reading, writing, arithmetic, science, geography, and history she tended to tell us stories--drawn from her personal experiences--to capture our young minds and keep our interest from waning.

Yet, these are not the things that I remember most about her. What I remember most was that she protected, nurtured, encouraged, and guided me through the mysteries I faced as a young girl. Through her, I began to understand just how different I was from everyone else and just how difficult getting along in the real world would be for me. She was not a religious person. Sister Emilita was a spiritual person who strove to educate us all on how to get along in the big sandbox of everyday life away from the security of our families. She ruled the classroom with absolute authority and taught us that the adult world has boundaries, rules, and laws to govern it that are unimpeachable. Looking back, I appreciate that she was a remarkable woman who stood strong in her convictions and tried to teach us to have convictions of our own--not those of our parents, friends, or others--our very own beliefs founded on our own experiences.

The challenges I faced in elementary school were not learning the mechanics but learning to survive the brutality of other children. Not that I was physically beaten...physical violence was not tolerated and; therefore, did not occur on school grounds because the penalties were severe and supported by the parents. Because I am so different than most and had not yet learned how to hide who I am from others, I was an easy target for the bullies and hooligans.

My first few weeks in school were not pleasurable. I learned quickly to get to school early, leave late, and find a quiet place where I could physically hide during recess and lunch. She must have noticed this behavior because Sister Emilita soon began asking me to assist her with tidying the classroom, cleaning the chalkboards, or reading just for fun. We would talk as we shared these activities: she would listen and answer my questions or comment on my observations. In this manner, she began my extra-curricular education.

Much to my relief, I was no longer dreading being amongst other children and looked forward to being with Sister Emilita. (Writing this I even remember the musty smell of her habit and the clean smell of her face...so there are times she must have hugged me to provide memories that are so tactile.) She was my anchor throughout the single-digit years of becoming.

Sister Emilita was not given to outbursts of emotion. Rather, she conducted her daily responsibilities and chores with a genteel grace and quiet assurance. She was not stern, although she could be authoritative when dealing with difficult students or situations that sometimes arise in any classroom. While there were not a lot of students in our little two-room schoolhouse, she did have students ranging from age 5 through to age 16. Yes, one of the young men who sat behind me in the classroom every year was 16 by the time I was in grade 4. This was not uncommon in schools of that era as the bright, the average, and the challenged students were all schooled together and no one passed into the next grade until they passed with a minimum 60% grade. The only exception to this was that the gifted students could progress at their own rate rather than being slowed down by the rest of us.

My sister, Deidry, was the only exception I knew. Two years younger than me, she joined me in grade 3 due to her exceptional genius. While we were always in the same classroom until this event, we were always in different rows. I remember quite clearly when this transition was made and the lasting impact it had both on my school life and at home. There was never a time after that when I was not in Deidry's shadow at home and my accomplishments compared to hers. I was not a genius, but, I was a very smart little girl...there was no way I could compete with her or match her intelligence as she could learn in weeks what would take me months and others the entire year. Because of this, at some point, I just stopped even trying.

This was the first time that Sister Emilita drew me aside and talked with me about the reality of being me. She knew that home life was becoming a place of unhealthy expectations and competition...I think because of the changes she saw in me that were not positive in any way, shape, or form. The one safe haven I always had at home was no longer. Mummy and daddy were having relationship difficulties (which would lead to separation at the end of grade 5). And, when I was trying to get their attention through difficult behavior (typical of all children), I was told to be more like my sister. Heck, I wasn't even like anyone else in 99% of the human population...and my sister is in the 1% of 1% who cannot even be quantified...it was an impossible order to fill. Both my sister and I were affected by this and Sister Emilita tried to keep it from spilling over into our academic and personal lives.

Not that her actions had an immediate impact. But there are times through the years when a lightbulb has gone off and I finally understood something she tried to teach me when I was far too young to grasp the intent of her words.

The first pearl of wisdom was when I told her I couldn't do something she asked of me. Sister Emilita whipped around from the chalkboard and told me to meet her in the cloakroom (a place where our boots, coats, and lunchboxes were kept separate from the classroom) as she swished rapidly up the aisle between the desks. She never disciplined or chastised anyone in front of anyone else, so I knew that I had said something that perturbed her sensibilities...so I rushed up the aisle--face burning--to meet her as quickly as possible. I don't know what I was expecting because no one who ever returned from banishment to the cloakroom ever talked about it...at least not with me. Very gently, she had me sit on the bench and sat beside me. Then she said these words that I have never forgotten:

"Miss Brooks," she always referred to us formally when dispensing chastisement "while most things in this life may not be probable. absolutely nothing is impossible. Remember this: if you want to do something bad enough you will do it and if you want to achieve anything all it requires is the will to do it. It is not that you can't but that you won't because you don't want to take the risk of failing or having others make fun of you. I expect you will never utter the word can't again because it does not exist in this world." Then she told me to sit and think on what she had just said before returning to class and that we would not ever discuss this subject again. Then she entered the classroom and quietly closed the door that usually stood open. Not quite realizing what had just transpired, I sat there for quite a few minutes before rejoining my class. I now knew why no one ever discussed what went on in the cloakroom...not even the bad kids. I had just been addressed and treated as an equal and not a student...imagine that! No yelling, no berating, no challenging, just a simple statement of how the world is and what she expected from me in her little corner of it.

While others may have said where there is a will there is a way, Sister Emilita fed it to me in words I have never challenged or forgotten since that day in third grade. In fact, it became the way I would address all uncertainties and challenges that life has ever thrown at me. Since that day, failure has never been an option...slacking off perhaps...but never failing. Anything I have set out to do, everything I have ever done or accomplished is due to that one short conversation and how it changed my perspective on will power.

To this day, I have not used the word can't unless it has a very specific use such as-- I can't pick you up because dad has the car at work today. She taught me this lesson extremely well and it was far more useful in everyday living than all the ABC's and 123's.

Within this lesson was also another...like a nesting doll one could not be used without consideration being given to the other. While failing would never be an option, completing things is sometimes not necessary. There are times in this life when the value is not in completing any task or challenge, but, in participating in the task or challenge. When the task at hand is meaningless, Sister taught me that setting it aside is not only appropriate but necessary to be happy and healthy. So, through this lesson, I learned that if I could walk away from something that was meaningless to me there would be no lingering questions or regrets because I had learned what I needed to know before the end of the project I was working on.

Another life lesson that Sister Emilita taught me, while seemingly irrelevant, actually became the foundation of how I would present myself physically to the world outside myself.

At the bottom of the field in our backyard there live a peculiar older gentleman we called Uncle Stanley. By all standards, he would be called a hermit. He lived in a tiny cabin, alone, with no pets or outside visitors for the most part. He fished in the water outside his only door, tended a garden for one, baked his own bread, and foraged in the surrounding woods for other foods like berries, mushrooms, rabbits, and fiddleheads. He only went to town once a year to buy staples using money earned doing odd jobs in our community and selling useful things to other people. But the thing I still remember most about him was the wallpaper in his tiny home: the centerfolds of men's magazines of the time (late 1950's through the early 1960's). The women were not exactly naked, but they were posed suggestively in revealing undergarments.

So, one day my topic of conversation with Sister Emilita was the unique wallpaper in Uncle Stanley's tiny home. Sister listened as I described, with the observations of a precocious child, the ladies that graced the walls of Stanley's domain. When I asked her why the women would do this, Sister gave me the best possible explanation (all other adults simply ignored my curiosity about this subject and shooed me away or told me it was something I'd understand when I grew up) appropriate for my age.

Sister Emilita, undaunted by the question, thought about it for a moment and then provided the following answer. "Little Miss Brooks, while exploring this is something better left until you are much older, there is something I can tell you. A sexy woman is always sexiest with all of her clothing on. Do you know that, in the late 1800's, men hoped just to catch a glimpse of a lady`s ankles? Grown men appreciate grown ladies in all their splendor with all of their clothing on."

She did not bring attention to the disheveled or risque state of the ladies in question on Stanley's walls. She did not tell me the ladies were wrong for posing for pictures of that sort. She did not add any of her personal prejudices or opinions with respect to pornography. What Sister Emilita did leave me with was an enduring desire to dress appropriately at all times. She further added that men appreciate a woman who knows how to conduct herself in a ladylike manner at all times. This brief conversation added a whole new interest to the list of things I wanted to know about: I now wanted to know how men and ladies looked at each other...both then and now. And, not from a purely physical point of view.

What I now know is this was the beginning of my sexual identity. While Sister Emilita may have been a nun, she was the best person from whom I could have sought this particular piece of wisdom. I have always remained fully clothed in appropriate attire whether in the company of men or women because of this brief conversation. While I have been called a prude by others, I still believe the wisdom of Sister's words and have not adjusted my idea of sexy to suit someone else. The lesson was not about clothing but about comportment and self-respect. I know that others sometimes view my stand on appropriate dress as antiquated or out-dated. Oh, there have been times when I succumbed to popular ideas; however, experience has taught me that men still prefer women who don't put themselves on visual display as the ones they will take home to meet mother. Reserved and classic never go out of style!

Also, about self-respect...in the years I was a student of Sister Emilita I only ever saw her lose her temper once. One of the boys in my age group decided to call her names (old black bat, witch, etc.) from the far side of the field we used for gym class when the weather permitted. Sister was standing in the doorway of the school as Donnie spouted his venom at her and I watched as she purposely marched across the field to his position. Without uttering a word, her face red with anger, Sister Emilita reached up (Donnie was much taller than she was) grabbed Donnie by the ear, and pulled it down to her mouth. Very quietly and distinctly--we all knew she was mad by her quietness--she told him that calling other people names...especially those who are teachers...was vile and unacceptable behavior. We all watched--absolutely spellbound--as Sister marched him across the field and into the school with his head pulled towards her by his ear.

While Donnie was expelled from school for his behavior, the rest of us learned that we dare not call each other names within earshot of Sister Emilita or any other adult. The common chant of "sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me" ceased being heard on the playground as we all adjusted to the new knowledge that name-calling was a bad thing to do. Not that I was ever one to call anyone names...I have always had issues with name-calling because this was the first form of bullying I encountered in grade primary and did not like how it made me feel inside. However, Sister Emilita reinforced in me the fact of how wrong it was and I have tried to never call anyone a name that is not nice.

Through example and the explanation that followed she taught me that once I say something it can never be retrieved and that something heard can NOT be unheard. That the names we hear others call us can fester in our souls and become venom that we then spew upon others. That it is through forgiveness that the soul is healed.

I also learned that sometimes anger is justified: That sometimes anger is righteous and best administered with kindness, respect, and compassion. It is not always possible to avoid a confrontation but there is no excuse for what would today be considered abusive behavior. Sister Emilita did not attempt to rationalize or minimize the situation: although obviously angry, she maintained a quiet, focussed woman in charge of her actions. She showed me that, even in anger, comportment and dignity are an integral part of being a lady.

Until third grade, I always sat at the head of the class in the first seat in the row of my grade. I liked being in this position and enjoyed the distinction of being there...even though the other children often teased me unkindly about being the teacher's pet or brainiac or something else they cooked up. However, this distinction was taken from me when my sister, the genius, was skipped up into my grade. I did not take this well. Not only my home life was affected by my brilliant sister, but now my school life was in tatters as well. I was moved back in the row to a position of less note to be teased and tormented daily by Buzzy...the oldest boy in our class, in fact, the whole school. And, to make matters worse, being at the back of the row ensured that Sister Emilita seldom noticed what was happening unless Buzzy got totally out of hand with his bothersome activities like pulling my hair, throwing spitballs at me, kicking my desk when I was writing, taking my books away, and a whole lot of other niggly things.

However, Sister Emilita did notice my overall failure to participate in class and withdrawal from activities. This is when she began to school me in the fine arts of graciousness, kindness, humility, and forgiveness. It was a process that, to this day, remains with me. She taught me that I should not judge myself by others or think too highly of myself or others. Being different is not a good thing in the life of children: children have a capacity for mean-spirited and malicious words and actions that often go unnoticed by adults when children are unattended. I normally had enough of this on any given day but when my sister moved into my grade it got exponentially worse. Sister Emilita did not work to change what the other children were doing...she worked with me so I would try to understand what was happening and find internal ways to adjust and cope with an external world that had become a hostile environment for me.

Sister Emilita, during the short time she was a part of my life, taught me to be okay with myself and the world around me. Although it took me many years to fully understand many of the extra-curricular things she taught me, there is no lesson that I have not used or recognized the value of throughout my life. She made a lasting impression, not in what I would become but in who I would become. She taught me that being me, while difficult, would not be insurmountable provided I did not hold myself in comparison to others in the process of determining my own worth or value in the journey of my life. I have not always made the choices or decisions others would have me make, but I have remained true to my nature.

This was her greatest gift to me...the knowledge that it is okay to be different and march to the tune of a different musician: that being a minority has the potential of making one extraordinary. The risks I have taken and the mistakes I have made have not left me with regrets but with a deeper understanding of what it is to be human. There is nothing I would choose to change about my life, given the opportunity, because there is something valuable I have learned with every experience life has given me. I am who I am because of my life...not in spite of my life and the one person in my childhood that taught me the importance of not being afraid to work things out on my own was Sister Emilita.