Best Halloween Trick Ever

My Catholic schoolmates can relate to this. I both enjoyed and endured twelve years of Catholic education taught by nuns, who wore long, black dresses with strange contraptions attached to their heads. Some of these “habits” or “uniforms” (for non-Catholic readers) seemed like black wedding veils worn close to the head; other headpieces resembled halos, as though the nuns from this order were especially saintly. These same wonderful sisters pulled anything a child needed from the copious pockets hidden within the million folds of their voluminous skirts. Need a band-aid? Scissors? Brush? Hammer? File? Hole punch? Stapler? Crayons? Ruler? Sister Mary Whatshername could sew on a button with the needle and thread pulled from her pockets. Messy? Sister Mary Whoevershewas could wipe a face with a wet washcloth and dry tears with a clean towel, taken from within the tucks of her clothes. Hungry? Sister Alwayssmiling unearthed jellybeans, chocolate, and licorice from her pleats.

By the time, I began my teaching career, the long black dresses of the religious sisters had given way to sedate, plain A-line dresses, adorned with a simple cross. The nuns no longer stood out in a crowd of schoolchildren. Until “Sister Act,” an entire generation of both Catholic and non-Catholic students had no clue what the traditional sister-attire was, nor what a “real nun” looked like historically. Whoopi Goldberg cleared that up for the children of the 90s, who watched Whoopi perform as a rocking sister, who wore a slightly, shorter version of the black uniforms of yore.

It is ironic that after my extensive Catholic education—taught in straight rows and working in quiet classrooms—that my career would be in urban public high schools, with students seated in tables and working in large groups. One Halloween morning, I stared at my closet. What to wear? Costume or no? Which decade to resurrect—50s, 60s, 70s? I spent most of the 80s alternatively pregnant or nursing; therefore, I did not consider that decade. Then I found it—a simple gray-pleated and A-line dress, used for at least two pregnancies, and with a sweet Peter-Pan collar. I would be a nun for a day! Mind you, not a pregnant nun, either. No, I would be Sister Theresa for my heathen public high school teenagers.

A crystalline rosary anchored to the plain rope that I tied around my waist, obscured the maternity style of the dress. I would look very plain, very dowdy, and very not pregnant. I secured plain gray fabric around my head, complete with white trim that I quickly sewed. My hair tucked inside, no make-up, and the austere uniform, I was ready to meet my students for the day. I walked into my usual classroom and wrote my name clearly on the board—Sister Theresa. I was certain my students would recognize me, despite my change of appearance and the obvious connection with Halloween. How mistaken I was.

First period class entered and took one glance at my habit and quietly took their seats. No one talked. I realized they had never really studied my face and my outfit was truly masterful. I introduced myself, thinking at this time, they would surely recognize my voice, but these were high school sophomores—15 years of age, somewhere between 8 and 18 years in maturity, and they never really listened to adults. Therefore, of course, they would not recognize my voice. I celebrated!
Me—“Good morning, class. I am your substitute teacher for the day. My name is Sister Theresa. Ms. Harrison will return tomorrow. I expect complete silence when I am speaking. When you wish to speak, you will raise your hand. When I call upon you, you will answer by standing at attention by your desk. You will answer me by replying, ‘Yes, Sister Theresa.’ When you finish replying, you may sit down. Is this clear?”
Class—Nearly in unison, “Yes, Sister Theresa.”

And so it went, for the entire day—class after class filed in, and I began the same way. It was a marvelous day attended by silent, studious, and respectful students. Minimal whispering occurred during lessons. When I returned the next day, and my students filed in their usual relaxed manner, hordes of kids ran to tell me that they had met a religious sister who substituted for me. She was strict, required things—such as standing by the desk and responding formally to Sister Theresa.

Best Halloween trick ever.
And, on those days, such as Homecoming week, before vacation, etc. when my classes are particularly unruly and I need a break, I might call on Sister Theresa to substitute again.