School Days! stream of consciousness Saturday

My first school was a parochial institution run by the Sisters of Perpetual Pain. The teacher I remember most was Sister Marguerite De Sade. Thankfully, my parents moved me to a public school in third grade, where I thrived. It’s incredible what encouraging words and a positive environment can do for your learning experience.
This saved me from Sister’s yardstick and landed me in a learning haven. But our return to New York City the next year was traumatic for me. There was no more Sister De Sade, but City public schools were not much better.

At the time, kids with any sort of learning issue were lazy or a discipline issue. It was detention, study halls, and the always inspiring visits to the Principal’s office. I was labeled a problem. By the time high school loomed on my horizon, it was clear that the City wanted to warehouse me.

I resisted warehousing and resumed education elsewhere. First, it was the local pool hall, but soon, I matriculated to the storied Greenwich Village School of peripatetic scholasticism. It included long discussions at the Cafe Rienzi with street poets and erudite rejects from the City’s many elite Colleges. My performances at the second and third-rate coffeehouses never warranted a career as a musician. But I received the start of a classical education that included history, literature, and philosophy. All while drinking coffee and soaking up conversations with interesting and generous people.

When I hit the road, the bottom of my pack contained volumes of suggested readings for a Pius Itinerant.

Some years later, I was fortunate to continue my education under more formal circumstances. I eventually earned a Bachelor’s, Master’s, and most of my Ph.D. But the informal schools of coffeehouses, social gatherings, and art galleries in the Village, Boston, and Baltimore set the course.

Take that, sister De Sade!