Living up to my potential & applying myself

Ah, the dreaded words no parent wants to hear… “I’m sorry to say but your daughter’s not living up to her potential, maybe if she’d just apply herself”. But unfortunately my parents heard this more than once. I find it odd that they heard it as early as grade school. Just how is something like potential realized or even measured at that age? Good grief, I hope it wasn’t those insane tests we had to take once or twice a year. You remember, take your number 2 pencil and fill in the circle that best represent the correct answer. Every year you received instructions on the correct way to fill in the circle. Every year it was drilled into our little heads, if for some unintended twist of fate you didn’t use a number 2 pencil, your life could be set on a course too horrible to describe. The same could happen if you colored in the answer dot without completely filling it in. Trouble could be yours if you became overzealous and lost complete control, allowing your pencil mark to extend beyond the parameters of the dot. Basically, I was lead to believe, if I made any of these life changing errors, I should just pack it in and give up on any possible future happiness. OMG! Maybe that’s why my life has taken the turns it has! Glad I finally figured that out!

I clearly heard the dreaded “potential/apply” comment in Sunday school the year I was to make my Holy Communion. I was raised in a Catholic household. We were practicing Catholics for a while. My parents were raised in the faith, married and had children in the faith. My brother, sisters and I were all taken to church regularly and with the exception of me, all were baptized, celebrated Communion and were confirmed. Some would argue this, but I was not a demon child banned from receiving these sacraments. There were some changes in our home and after my communion, the tides turned and we did not attend church any longer. But the comment made by one tiny but mighty nun on that Sunday so many years ago has stayed with me all these years. Sister Rita Claire didn’t stand much taller than I did but it was never her physical size that could stop me in my tracks. There was something about her that was so frightening and commanding that had she asked me to run naked through the streets, I probably would have. So powerful were her words that to this day they come back and pepper my everyday life. As I think back, I spent a very short time with the Sister. I’ll never forget the day we were practicing the proper way to hold your arms, clasp your hands and walk in to church. We were lined up, boys on one side, girls on the other. I clearly remember standing next to Michael Good. Even as a very young girl I thought he was handsome and he smelled terrific. Ok maybe terrific is going overboard. He didn’t smell like Dial soap, like all the rest of us. I wonder if Mrs. Good used extra Downey or if they had some higher quality soap than the rest of us. Funny what you remember. So back to the sister… I must have been swooning over the closeness of Michael Good because I think I tripped or ran into the girl in front of me, but Sister Rita Claire said something about me having a rough life ahead of me because I couldn’t pay attention to anything, even as I was being welcomed into “God’s House”. I am surprised that there weren’t any thunder claps or bolts of lightning. She then mentioned that some people, inferring me, would never live up to their potential… if only they would apply themselves! At this point I believe we all prayed for me. She asked that they all keep me in their prayers, reminding them all that when you continuously pray for those less fortunate, your life will be all you ever wished for. Wonder how that’s working out for all of them. This bit of unpleasantness was parceled away in my head. Often I would think about the Sister and wonder if it was me or her who had issues. It was probably both of us. But I did learn from that little dynamo. Some of what she said has been the little voice in my head over the years. Years ago I was working at a hospital as a switchboard operator. Because this was a Catholic hospital, every night at 8:15 sharp, prayers were said over the public address system. Ironic, visiting hours ended at 8:30… so there was usually a captive audience for the evening prayer. I normally worked the midnight shift but was filling in for someone one summer evening. We all sat in a big room at a huge horseshoe shaped table with a phone panel in front of each of us. For security reasons, you had to have a key card to enter our work space. So that evening as I enjoyed the change of pace the evening shift held, I heard the door click as a key card was used. I looked up to see who was joining us… Sister Rita Claire came toward me. It had been 17 or 18 years since I had last seen her, but she looked exactly the same. I had to remind myself to breathe. “Good Evening Sister Rita Claire” automatically came from my lips before I even knew I was saying it… Her immediate recall astounded me. “Good Evening Sarah Ellanor”… As she presented the evening prayer to the sick, injured, the newly born and those preparing to pass on, I was impressed with her calm, peaceful way. I thought maybe I had been mistaken all those years ago. Maybe she really did want to foster only the best in me. As she spoke, she smiled so sweetly at me. I was so sure I had misjudged the Sister. Maybe she really did believe in me… Once she had completed the prayer, she came to where I was sitting. She took my hands in hers and I have to admit, lovingly caressed them. I was feeling nothing short a pure love and hope going through my body. She asked about my life. I proudly said I was married with 2 young children. There was a smile of recognition, a kiss on the forehead. As she left, she turned to me and said, “What parish are you with?” Before I could stop myself I blurted out that I was not with a parish. “Your children were baptized?” she asked. Looking down in shame I told her no, they weren’t. And then, after a heavy sigh, she said it. “You never did live up to your potential, if only you could apply yourself… May God be with you” and she was gone. To this day I’m very cautious when around nuns. I believe the good sister is still around and could pop up at any minute. I rue the day some unthinking person in the Catholic Church decided some nuns didn’t have to where their habits. I believe that is really playing dirty. Goes right along with undercover cops in my book. There should be some type of warning. I suppose the excessively large cross hanging around their neck may be a clue, but it’s not a clue you can always rely on. It could be an ill place fashion statement. While we’re at it, can we talk about aggravatingly handsome priests and how wrong that is? My siblings and I used to do Community Theater. Every year, one of the biggest parishes in our area did a fabulous musical variety show. The amount of money made off the show was astounding. One year, as we prepared to do the first dress rehearsal, I was sitting in the theater talking with a great old family friend when a dashingly handsome young man came and sat with us. We were introduced and I discovered his name was Matt and that he had relocated to the area a few months before. My flirt switch was activated and I was working it for all it was worth. It was somewhat mutual, I thought and I was having fun. Matt excused himself after about 30 minutes. The old family friend just stared at me. “What?” I asked. The friend asked when was the last time I had been to mass. It had been years I mumbled, looking away. With that, Matt reappeared. The family friend welcomed him back. But hold on… did he just say “Father Matt”? Yep… Father Matt. There’s never a lightning bolt when you need it. At least I was applying myself!

In high school we were all given these tests to see what our potential career should be. It was a tease to get those of us, not living up to our potential or applying ourselves, excited about our futures. I remember thinking this was a good thing. I’d get some direction and find my purpose in life. I had my number 2 pencils and was really going to buckle down, read the questions carefully, and fill in the dots with all the determined precision I could muster. I took the test and proudly presented to the instructor. Weeks went by until one day I saw the envelope in the day’s mail. Because it was addressed to my dad, I had to wait until he came home. Shortly after he arrived, we sat down together to open it. Rocket Scientist, Nurse, Teacher, Lawyer... What could it be? I had answered each question to the best of my ability. This test was touted as the best indicator of where your skills, passions, attitude and aptitude would take you. As my dad read the results, his face broke in to a smile; “wow” he said “I would have never thought this”. President of the United Sates? A Doctor? What was I destine to be? He handed me the results. The results stated that 85% of my answers conclusively showed that I should be… a Rabbi. Since I am neither a man nor Jewish, I knew then that I would really have to apply myself if I wanted to live up to my potential. But hey, never say never.