An ongoing blog series in which Joe writes about the important moments in his life. Big moments, small moments, they all resonate with him. So, how are these moments important to him? Read on to find out.
PART X
Religion with Reilly
During the 1998-1999 School Year
This one is unique in that I don't really remember any specific details from the incident itself, I just remember the impact it had. I was in fourth grade, give me a break. This also might be a bit dry or boring, so I apologize in advance. A day in a fourth grade classroom typically lacks any and all drunken drama, sadly.
I went to Catholic School, at a tiny elementary school called Presentation B.V.M. in Cheltenham, PA. Catholic school gets a bad rap (just ask my public-schooled wife her opinion on the matter!), but honestly, I loved my eight years at Pres. There were barely any nuns there, let alone nuns that beat the shit out of you with rulers or any nonsense like that. The classroom was structured and disciplined, sure, but we learned a lot and the teachers were for the most part cool for a bunch of old ladies.
In fourth grade, I was placed in Mrs. Reilly's class. Reilly was on the older side, and for sure she was one of the strictest teachers in the school. Strict, but fair. I liked her, but this was quite possibly because I was a teacher's pet. That wasn't always the case—I was a badass in Kindergarten, and I started to reach into class clown territory by the time I reached eighth grade. But plum in the middle of my eight years in elementary school, I was the model student (much to the chagrin of my peers, I'm sure).
So I liked Reilly, I didn't mind that she was strict, because she never had to be strict with me. (On this note, check out her old Rate My Teachers page, it's fucking hilarious. [bummer, the link is broken])
I have no idea what caused the events of this particular day. Let's assume that the class was acting up and being particularly rowdy on this day for some reason. Or maybe Mrs. Reilly was just at the end of her rope. But on this day, she sat her chair down in the middle of the class, got really quiet, and had a talk with her students.
Mrs. Reilly sat us all down and spoke to us frankly and honestly about religion, about our duties as human beings, about the need to be good people. I remember it being an eye-opening experience. It was the first time in my life I recall getting treated like an adult by a teacher.
The talk itself was important to me, and christ, I wish I could remember even some of her exact words. Or, maybe it's better if I don't? Maybe if 28-year-old Joe heard the words Reilly had to say that day, maybe it would come off as preachy or way too religious for my tastes.
I was young and impressionable. I knew I was Catholic but I hadn't really thought about what that means up to that point. Reilly impressed upon us that as Catholics, it was our duty to do good in the world, to do the right thing. She was putting the responsibility on us, like adults, that we would always need to do good by our fellow man.
Now, in retrospect, the whole "Catholic" part of this talk can be jettisoned and the point would still be made. She was speaking to us as Catholics, but I took her to mean "human beings." We needed to follow Jesus' example, sure, but I knew after a while that she meant we just needed to be good people. My interpretation later in life was that, who the fuck knows if Jesus really existed and who the fuck cares if he comes back to speak to us through a bowl of crackers, what's important is that you follow the example of this literary figure. Do as he did, or was said to do at least. Simple as that.
I don't claim to be a good person now, or ever. I've made too many mistakes, I've been a dick to too many people, I've made the easy decision instead of the hard decision on too many occasions.
But I swear I try. It's important to me to try. And I trace that need to do good by my fellow man back to that talk with Mrs. Reilly in fourth grade.
I saw Mrs. Reilly on the train about a year ago. Obviously, as it had been almost 20 years since I had her as a teacher, she had no fucking clue who I was. And if she knew who I was now, who knows, maybe she'd be disappointed. But I'm still thankful for those words she shared with the class all those many years ago.
All this is obviously ignoring the fact that, regardless of my interpretation of her words now, there's a part of me that knows that she really wanted us to follow Catholicism, to be religious, to go to Mass and so on.
So, did I become a Good Catholic? For a little bit. I sang at Mass and read the Bible. Nothing hardcore, but hey, I was a teacher's pet, remember? Gotta do what teacher says.
Am I still a Good Catholic? No, I am not. But that journey will be detailed in the next "The Night That We..." entry, where I plan on detailing the moment when I finally called it quits on being a Catholic for good. Stay tuned, right here on Puke on Your Birthday.
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