part 2 
Ten of us arrived in the seventh grade in the Fall of 1965.  The five who were boarders (joined by two more after Christmas) lived in a room on the public side of the glass divider on the second floor, with the eighth graders in an adjoining room, if I remember correctly.  All of us in bunk beds.  I think that our class was in 8th grade when we moved up to the long rows of beds on the top floor.
Those were hard years in my life.  My home life was a disaster, and I spent most Sundays and month-ends with friends.  I loved my three years of Spanish with Sister Timothy, and algebra with Sister Andrew, but was otherwise not interested in school, and was a diffident student at best. Probably the best thing that happened for me academically was a very young Sister Colette’s decision in 8th grade to give up on trying to teach Catholicism to her recalcitrant “non-Catholics” in favor of us learning about other religions.  My first Seder ever was the one we held in our tiny pastel classroom on the ground floor level.  From Sr. Colette I learned that you could be simultaneously committed to a life of faith while being hospitable toward those of other faiths.
Unlike Toni Wallace, I went to great lengths to avoid sewing class.  I remember that once Sister Lawrence came into our rec room (what was that called? Sunnyside?) and I rolled under the couch, where I remained undetected.  Other times friends and I would go out to the far end of the soccer field for the afternoon, thus avoiding any attempts to discover our whereabouts.  But, like another of us has written, I loved the horses, and went riding with Delana Brose every afternoon that she showed up.  
Sister Mary Paul and I engaged in a year-long battle over skirt lengths.  I finally ripped the hem out of one of my skirts (the one sewing skill I had learned) so that it hung around my calves, and wore it every single Sunday to mass for the rest of 9th grade.
The best thing about BC for me was the wonderful group of lifelong friends that we made. Yes, we spent a ridiculous amount of time on The Mystery of the Secret Life of Nuns and on trying to infiltrate hallways closed to us.    But we also spent hours and hours listening to music, writing to penpals, and just talking, talking, talking.  Pam Malin in my class had her dorm alcove on the corner, with huge windowells overlooking the front lawn.  Late at night after Sr. Mary Charles went to bed, I would slip down to Pam’s space and we would sit in the window and talk – one of my favorite memories.  And when I hear The Mamas and Papas, the Rubber Soul and Revolver albums, the Monkees, and Motown music, I am instantly transported back to specific spaces and people at BC.
My father had it in mind that I should go to boarding school in New England as he had done, and so I left BC after freshman year.  I was devastated, of course, to leave what had become something of a home filled with good friends, and I am so glad that many of us have refound one another decades later.
One final note:  At a reunion several years ago, some of my friends told me that they had been invited by the nuns to a vocation week-end during senior year.  They are all businesswomen now.  Who would have guessed that I would be the one to go from rebellious convent schoolgirl to ordained Presbyterian minister?  And that Sisters Agatha and Ellen would come to my ordination service!

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