The Schools of My Youth
That was the mistake. Everyone needs some form of reaffirmation. That is not a weakness, especially for those in a line of work where personal worth cannot be measured in dollars and cents.
We know now how much we miss them; how much better it would be if we still could select from a wide array of schools staffed by religious orders as our children reach high school and college age.
In the 1960s, for example, my brothers and I were able to choose from New York City high schools staffed by Diocesan, Vincentian and Jesuit priests, Marist brothers, Irish Christian brothers, Christian Brothers of the Schools, Franciscans, Holy Cross brothers, Salesians. My sisters selected from a comparable list of schools run by a variety of orders of nuns.
We are living in a time when it has become routine to hear stories of child abuse involving priests or brothers. Sleazy comedians now routinely feature jokes about homosexual priests in their repertoire. And I guess we have to accept that many of these stories are true. But my memories of a Catholic boyhood contain nothing even remotely similar. They are worlds apart, overwhelmingly positive. I regret that my own children did not have an opportunity to go to the schools of my youth.
Where Have You Gone, Father?
Some attribute the defections to Vatican II. There is something to that. Doubt-ridden institutions in the midst of remaking themselves inspire little loyalty. And, fair or not, that is the way the Church was perceived.
So perhaps maintaining the Latin Mass and the requirements for fasting and abstinence and a respect for traditional morality would have made a difference. But then again, maybe not. The spirit of the times can overpower every trace of good judgment that stands in its way. The body-piercing craze of our time is a good example.
Looking back, however, I have come to the conclusion that there is one thing that American Catholics should have done, even if it would have helped only marginally — and it just might have helped more than that. I hold that we should have worked harder at making clear to the priests, brothers and nuns how important they were to us; that we believed them to be engaged in a truly noble work.
I think it fair to say that we took them for granted. For most of us, the pattern was the same: we took our courses, paid our children's tuition, shook their teachers' hands at graduation ceremonies — and then lived our lives as if they did not exist. I do not charge mean-spiritedness. In fact, the omission was in many ways a sign of our respect for the men and women in the religious life; an indication that ordinary Catholics did not consider them in need of public commendation — of “stroking,” in the vernacular of today.
What Made Them So Good
So I ask: Would it have made a difference in the way the religious viewed themselves if we had made more explicit our gratitude:
For schools where I never experienced a day with a threat to my physical safety from teenage thugs, unlike so many modern teenagers.
For classrooms that were always orderly, on task, taught by men and women who made it clear that they wanted me to succeed.
For schools where most of the graduates, working class young men and women, often the children of immigrants who spoke little English, went on to some of the best colleges in the country.
For schools with no computers or language labs or VCRs — schools that were very Spartan indeed — but with no graffiti or slop on the floors, no vandalism; schools that were austere but dignified, that worked.
For schools with teachers who convinced us that they would not only be disappointed, but personally aggrieved, by sleazy misbehavior from their students; that they cared for our spiritual well-being.
For schools that fostered a healthy and balanced version of what the modern psychologists call “self esteem.” Self esteem? I'll say. I can remember sitting in my classroom and wondering how it all could have worked out so well? How could it be that I, of all the people on the planet in my geography book, was lucky enough to have been born both a Catholic and an American? Talk about having it all! (I used to put New Yorker and Irish-American on the list too. You will forgive me. I was young.)
For giving us a glimpse of the brothers' and priests' residences, of quiet and dignified community rooms that made clear that one did not have to possess great wealth to maintain living quarters of dignity and quiet elegance; that elbow grease and taste were what mattered.
For demonstrating that piety and rigorous scholarship are in no way incompatible. The impact is permanent when an adolescent sees the priest or brother who led the previous day's discussion of the 14th Amendment or intricate logarithms kneeling in silent prayer in the school's chapel. Self-important Marxist professors encountered later in life always looked childish in comparison.
For providing an alternative to the pop-psychology, excuse-making, self-pitying demeanor of the baby boomers. For giving us a world where we were expected to be accountable for our actions, to take responsibility for our lives, to be Catholic men and women. No excuses. Grow up. Do the right thing.
For a properly grounded awareness of our responsibilities to the poor and downtrodden, often through our teachers' own years spent in missionary work. Their sacrifices put into perspective the modern phenomenon of politicians' wives or starlets going off with a camera crew to pose with Third World babies or a newly discovered endangered species. We can tell the difference.
For the example of student social gatherings that illustrated how joyous, even boisterous, sometimes raucous, camaraderie was possible without the coarse buffoonery of the saloon or frat house — or the vulgar banter of the morning radio talk show hosts like Don Imus and Howard Stern.
For their introductions to the beauty and emotive power of the Church's traditional liturgy, for a world of Latin hymns, reverent processions, regular prayer, daily Rosary, retreats, miraculous medals, incense, stained glass, dignified church architecture — the warm ambience of Catholicism that even fallen away Catholics nowadays will recall with fondness.
For good old days that were very good indeed.
(This article originally appeared in The Wanderer and is reprinted with permission. To subscribe call (651) 224-5733.)
