Racist Nun

The mail. It's a daily ritual which I often take forgranted. Why? Well, mostly becasue all I get are bills, Time Out NY and the occasional BBC catalogue. Hum drum, I know.

Today, I recieved an ad for the Big Apple Comic Show (gotta love it when your former employer wants you to give him money), my phone bill and a letter from my old high school.

The class of 1997 is fast approaching its 10 year anniversary, which is much lamented by Eric and myself. I thought the letter may pertain to that most frightening event so I opened the letter.

Like most of my mail, it was a solicitation for money. I was relieved to say the least. I didn't have to get all neurotic about an impending social obligation. Then, I read closer. The solicitation was for a volley ball game, in memory of one of the most racist old bats in the history of the Catholic Church.

I'll refrain from naming her, as it is in bad taste to speak ill of the dead (though if ever there was an exception...). This is the nun that asked my sister if she could see ok and then snickered. She also told me "you don't look like a Gonzales!"

This particular nun was renowned for letting her high honors classes slide while being tough on anyone who didn't make that "prestigious" grade. She also asked a bunch of African American students in DC how they could afford computers. Yet, Queen of Peace High School wants to have a charity event in her honor.

This certainly broke the daily routine of opening letters and writing checks. I started to wonder why someone like that was fondly remembered. Was it because so many high honors (Phase for all you fellow QP kids) got to cheat their way through American History? Or was there some redeeming quality to her that many of us never got to see? No one is perfect, least of all me, but a Nun who repeatedly made jokes about "darkies" getting her own charity event? Preposterous!

Perhaps not, though. After all, reflecting on the second chances I've had, perhaps it's best to remember the good things, to remember that no matter how horrible we, as humans can be, there's always a light, no matter how dim.

Oh shit, Verizon charged me 50 bucks for texts this month. Dammit!