For generations, Catholic children were raised under the watchful care of women who could silence an entire classroom simply by adjusting their glasses lower on the bridge of their nose.
One raised eyebrow could stop a paper airplane mid-flight, its pilot suddenly looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights.
Children today have “behaviour management systems.”
At my Catholic primary school, we had nuns with stern eyes, firm stances and folded arms, and no child ever wanted to discover what happened after hearing the words, “I’m very disappointed in you.”
Unfortunately, I discovered exactly what happened after being caught misbehaving in the playground during recess.
“Master Dorin, I’m very disappointed in you.”
Ouch. Lesson learned. My behaviour improved dramatically.
I was fortunate enough to have nuns as teachers during primary school.
They were strict, but they also had the most beautiful souls and were deeply devoted educators.
For decades, sisters served as teachers, principals, choir directors, librarians and sacramental coordinators. Nothing escaped them.
They seemingly had supernatural abilities – or perhaps help from above – capable of identifying the source of a whispered comment from 10 metres away.
A nun could walk into a room, pause for three seconds, and say, “Would someone like to explain why the classroom clock had mysteriously moved forward 10 minutes?”
Hoping to push time forward and escape early for recess or lunch, we became convinced the sisters had a direct communication line to the Almighty Himself, who was clearly giving us up.
This was before my generation, but I heard many stories from relatives about the era when left-handed children were strongly encouraged to write with their right hand. According to my aunties, some sisters could transfer a pencil from the left hand to the right with the speed and precision of an Olympic relay runner.
At lunchtime there was always a brief moment of optimism when someone would try to include the nuns in our games.
It usually started with a hopeful, “Sister, do you want to play?” followed by an immediate reassessment of our life choices when she politely declined or worse, agreed.
If Sister joined your team, you knew one thing: you were about to experience a very structured version of the game.
Looking back now, what remains most memorable is not the discipline or the folded arms, but the dedication behind it all.
These women gave their lives to educating generations of children, often with little recognition and endless patience.
They taught us manners and the difference between right and wrong long before we fully appreciated it.
And while the world and classrooms may have changed, many of us still carry the lessons of the nuns with us every day.
Even now, long after leaving the classroom, many of us still find ourselves sitting up straighter at the sound of footsteps in a hallway – just in case.
