The Very Wretched Sister Ursulina

I hope you enjoy these bite-sized snippets featuring the humorous antics of my colorful/neurotic/funny/lovable Italian family from New Jersey. These true stories are written with love — to entertain, make you smile, and if I may be so fearless, pee-your pants with laughter — hey, even a little spritz will do! On with the show:

“The sixties were when hallucinogenic drugs were really, really big. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that we had the type of shows we had then, like The Flying Nun.” ~ Ellen DeGeneres

THE SETTING: Saint Margaret’s Catholic School, Morristown, NJ

TIMELINE: Second grade (circa 1970-something)

THE SCENE: My introduction to the Catholic school system, and I’m already gagging at the thought of those despicably ugly uniforms I’ll be forced to wear Monday through Friday.

I mean, is there any little girl who’d feel confident in those ridiculous accordion-pleated get-ups they called skirts? Flattering, these are not! Especially for this seven-year-old used to wearing cute ensembles picked out by her very stylish mom.

Oh wait, there’s more to this fashion nightmare:

— Dowdy white buttoned-up blouse? CHECK!

__ Saddle shoes be damned, we had to wear shoes that looked like they came from the orthopedic store for ninety-something year old men.

— Stupid crisscross neck tie? CHECK! What the hell was that thing about, and where was my favorite little black velvet dress when I needed it?

Horrid duds aside, my education at St. Margaret’s was okay, but short-lived. I made the most of my time there, and didn’t leave without a couple of incidents, or what I call “nun troubles”.

They expelled me once — a story for another day, so you have to come back for that one. Hint: it involves a #2 pencil and a brat who had it coming!

Today’s spotlight is on the mean and utterly terrifying Sister Ursulina. EEEKS! Even typing out her name makes me uncomfortable all these decades later.

Sister Ursulina was one of those nuns who would get her jollies from hitting kids who were misbehaving in class. God forbid if a student was chewing gum, because they’d end up standing in front of the class for thirty minutes with their wet, chewed up ball of Juicy Fruit stuck on the tip of their nose, looking like a total dork. If the kids laughed at said dork, dear sister found it more satisfying than an extra swig of sacramental wine.

Can you spell h-u-m-i-l-i-a-t-i-o-n, children? The wretched Ursulina thrived on it!

I never knew that much MEAN could be crammed into a four-foot five person! Ursulina was one frightening little lady, and she wouldn’t know a smile if a huge one crawled up her habit and bit her on her holy ass.

Ursulina never smiled. I thought it was because her mouth could only turn down — a side-effect from her disapproval of everything. She had deep crevices that ran from her lips to her chin, making her look like a wooden puppet. If Charlie McCarthy and Anthony Hopkins’ sidekick from the 70s movie MAGIC had a puppet child, they would’ve called it Sister Ursulina.

After seeing her strike a fellow student with a ruler one afternoon, I ran home from school and told my mom about it. Mom advised me to leave the school at once if any angry nun ever touched me, or tried to make me look like a dork in front of the class with a wad of gum on my face.

The following morning, I walked to school with my head held high, went straight up to Ursulina and told her that if she, or any nun at this school, ever hit me with a ruler or even looked at me the wrong way — ok, Mom didn’t really say that part, it’s my inner Goodfellas coming out — I had her permission to bolt out of there immediately.

Ursulina swiftly grabbed my arm and marched me down to the principal’s office. She asked Mother Superior to phone my mother to verify this unheard of rebellion. I held my breath as I could only hear half the conversation and knew Mom told her exactly what I told her. Sister Boss, gently put the receiver down and told me to get back to the classroom.

Unfortunately, this was not the last time they called my mother at home. Remember that pencil incident I mentioned earlier?

Lucky for me, the nuns left me alone after that day and my six-month sentence spent at St. Margaret’s was over in a crack of a yardstick.

HALLELUJAH! There IS a GOD!