If you want your child to burn out before college, exposed to bizarre sexual scandals, and acquire “fair weather” friends who will sporadically look her up at random intervals throughout her adult life, then do send your child to St. Bernard Preparatory. I am first generation college on my mother’s side; I even went the extra mile to earn a graduate degree. And I’m the girl – now all grown – that St. Bernard Preparatory “disinvited” because I was poor, I have dyscalculia, and that DHR fiasco that happened in 1995. Let’s work our way backwards, shall we?
The year was 1995, and I was one of those rare students who was old before my time. As a sophomore, I was president of the ecology club and that girl in which teachers confided. I had no group yet was friendly with everyone. And I took up for those students that the popular brats snubbed. (Oh, and you should see how life has not worked out for those entitled brats.) Because I was the first friend of a homosexual kid, I also was privy to the fact he was having an affair with a young novice monk. This homosexual boy thought it’d be a great idea to brag about his elicit affair with everyone, especially his pot smoking buddies. I’ve never been a big fan of smoke or a smoker, so I fell out of favor quickly despite being the first person to show this kid kindness.
One of homosexual kid’s pot buddies got expelled for possession and the kid’s parents retaliated by alerting the DHR and Cullman police department to homosexual kid’s elicit affair. I was one of the twelve kids called in for questioning. My art teacher said, “When I heard them call your name, I knew it was going to be serious.” What she meant was that I had the most boring social life worrying about deforestation and wildlife habitat loss. (Interestingly, all these rich kids grew up to care about what I cared about then because now it’s popular to be “green.”)
Homosexual kid tried to throw everyone under that proverbial bus, even yours truly, and I didn’t even date. He lied about a monk friend who helped me start the ecology club and organize hikes, and he drummed up older allegations of molestation. I cannot speak to these allegations simply because I wasn’t around any such occurrences. The other eleven students fell in line around homosexual kid. You’d think Bernard would’ve kept me around as I was the one who could set the story straight. They didn’t. And they laid all the blame on the kindest, and only truly good priest, I ever knew, K, who was headmaster at the time. He had no idea of anything elicit or criminal. But he was the patsy.
Homosexual kid grew up to be one of those weirdos who looks you up after a good decade and starts contacting your in-laws because you tell him to “fuck off.” And that’s just the start of those losers from high school who won’t just go away. One fair weather friend who was never a close friend tried to buddy up with me after she saw I married a physicist and have quite the strong personality online. She let it slip out that she had dyscalculia too. And she did so very visibly online when I was ripping Bernard an a-hole for not acknowledging dyscalculia as a very real thing. Why didn’t Bernard disinvite her for flunking math? Her parents had money. I was just a poor girl who drove to school in a huge boat of a car that everyone fittingly called “the boat,” and it was a boat next to their jeeps and crisp sedans. The idiot proved my point in her attempted defense of Bernard. And she was the same acquaintance who came whining to me, instead of her fellow cool Bernard alumni buddies, when she lost her job and needed help.
I did show up twice at a couple functions just over a decade ago to show that I’m a success despite what they did or said to me. The Hatchet-face abuser of girls that Bernard kept employed for years told me I should have stayed in an abusive marriage instead of getting divorced. Yes, an insane Catholic whore said that to a grown woman; she said it because I’m the one she didn’t get away with bullying. I stood up to Hatchet-face and that crazy mad monk known for his “acid flashbacks.” (Don’t worry, I’ll get to mad monk in a minute.) Catholic whore didn’t get her dig in as she wanted, and the administration had the nerve to have an awards ceremony at this certain function. Hatchet-face Catholic whore demanded everyone stand for her after no one stood for K, the priest they back-stabbed. My guest and I didn’t stand. And that pissed her off as much as me telling her to fuck off.
C.K.: You are a Catholic whore with a hatchet-face. If there is a Hell, according to your own doctrine and dogma, you’re gonna to burn for what you’ve done to young girls. Come talk shit to my face, you wanna-be power whore. I gotta boot ready to bury in yo butt, you fucking piece of Catholic scum.
If you want your daughter told to stick with an abusive marriage, let one of the jealous females that Bernard has a penchant for hiring mind-fuck her. If you’re considering Catholic school for your children after all the flood of child molestation cases now public knowledge after years of cover-ups, you’re a failure as a parent.
Hatchet-face wasn’t the only abusive lay female in administration and teaching, but she was the worse. She was only verbally abusive to me. She didn’t get away with making me run laps for yawning in class or having to pee. I stood my ground and when I did, I saw her eyes falter; she feared the unawakened potential she tried to snuff out in every young girl. This is why she didn’t teach the girls about the male reproductive organs, but she taught the boys about the female. It’s why she was so viciously “pro-life,” and told us we were incubators who “deserved” to have our hypothetical babies taken if we girls should fuck outside of wedlock. And it’s why she crossed the line and abused fresh new crop of freshman every year. It should have been Hatch-face arrested and charged by the DHR.
Bernard not only allowed Hatchet-face to thrive but kept others like her employed. The only good female teacher was fired for being too empathetic. The short, mousy office worker was a rabid bitch who would say nasty things at the pretty girls, especially the ones who lacked popularity or wealthy parents. The “career counselor” told multiple girls, including me, that we’d never make into college. I have a graduate degree and have taught college. Many of her students she pegged as future successes flunked out of college, abused drugs, or both.
Now to the crazy acid flash-back monk… acquaintances of my father’s told my dad that this particular monk threw fits on purpose to scare boys. Therefore, it’s probably safe to assume the explanation of acid flash-backs wasn’t accurate. The first adult tantrum this mad monk threw in front of my class resulted in him hitting a boy in the back, pulling the kid out of his chair and tossing him across the room – for no reason other than the kid was in the lowest math class and just didn’t get algebra. Mad monk also beat on the chalkboard until the icon of Madonna and Child crashed on the floor. All the while he screamed “mother-fucker” over and over.
And guess what… surprise, surprise – I’m the only student who ever stood up to mad monk. And when I did, that man started crying. That’s when I realized he needed serious help – that probably all the adults at Bernard needed serious help. I hugged him and cried with him. Right then I saw a broken man who needed serious mental health help. Why did these people behavior this way? Why were they ever allowed around children?
My parents didn’t force me to attend St. Bernard Preparatory. I choose Bernard because the high school in that backwater Alabama town was pathetic, and my family wasn’t from this town. We were transplants from Knoxville, Tennessee. But everything that happened at Bernard catapulted me into college after just my sophomore year. And the animal rights girl became a teacher in her own right as well as an accidental human rights activist.
Like a cat, I’ll land on my feet. And I’m still the one to shut down bullies. But don’t think just because things went well for me that your kid will thrive in the face of facilitated adversity. You’re not making your child better by creating hardship or “discipline.” And I hope you wouldn’t want your child to face down what I did. Your kid isn’t me. Do him/her a favor – just say no to parochial school.