I am still in regular communication with my Catholic grade school classmates of the 1950s, even though we are now hundreds of miles apart. Most recently, we have been emailing about our early days as novice fifth-grade altar boys. Our “war stories” are about the mistakes we made, learning parts of the Mass and passing the litmus tests of reciting the Confiteor and Suscipiat in Latin. Young Sister Leo Marie was there on the front lines with us, sometimes in muffled laughter, looking on from the sacristy as disaster unfolded.

Switching hands with the cruets at the Offertory was challenging for our small hands, as was not hitting the pastor in the head with the unwieldy ombrellino (or liturgical canopy) during a Holy Thursday procession. One delightful memory is “Brennan the Bell Ringer,” who seemed to ring the bells randomly all through Mass.

The scandal I almost perpetrated

Long before the altar boy escapades, I came close to perpetrating a scandal around the parish. Sister Cecelia, my first-grade music teacher, would meet with me in her studio in the sisters’ house, and she would not only teach me the scales, but also had a way of inquiring about one’s life.

Under one such interview, I mentioned that my Aunt Mary was out in California living with her boyfriend. That raised the good sister’s eyebrows.

Next time she saw my mom, Sister Cecelia said, “Um, I hear your sister is living out in California with her boyfriend.”

I’m sure they both got a good laugh when my mom explained that Aunt Mary was a Navy nurse stationed in San Diego. Mary, being single, always created a bit of a buzz around the extended family when she would write and say that she’d had a date. It all added up for me that “Mary was living out in California with her boyfriend!”

Incidentally, Aunt Mary completed her 20-year career as a Navy nurse, never married and lived out her 99-year life as virtually a lay religious doing service for others back in Cincinnati.

Two Benedictine nuns

Sister Evangeline and Sister Lawrence continue to impact my life going on eight decades now.

See, I like to write. I like to talk. 
I like to hear other people talk. The grandkids make fun of me for saying, “LET’S … have a conversation.”

While I wrote scholarly stuff as a college professor, it was never my forte. I came into my own when I could get conversational in the popular press. One reader said, “When I read your articles, I feel like you are talking to me.” That was music to my ears.

I also wanted to teach whatever I had learned. Learning in school was a struggle for me, so I desired to make it easier for others. My thought process was, “If I could learn this, you sure as heck can, too.”

The amazing thing is that writing was the hardest thing for me to do as a schoolboy. Reading was also laborious. How did such a slow reader get through college and graduate school and even teach college? And how could such a painful writer produce hundreds of articles and three books?

Sister Lawrence once looked over my shoulder in eighth grade and said, “Dorsel, you have a way of saying a lot in a few words.” That was because writing was so painful for me. Fewer words, less pain.

Long before that, I had to stay after school for months catching up on my spelling words, 20 times each, thanks to Sister Evangeline’s unbending discipline in third grade. Best lesson of the first decade of my young life — I never got behind on anything again.

Sister Lawrence also said, “Dorsel, I want to see where you are 10 years from now!” I took it as a compliment that she expected big things of me.

Back to the future

I didn’t make it back in 10 years, but I did by 15 years at age 28. I found her at a new school, straightening up the cloak room after the school day, dedicated as ever.

I was prepared to proudly and gratefully announce that I had earned my doctorate thanks to her inspiration. However, it was evident in our conversation that she didn’t even remember me. She had no idea who I was!

So, I decided discretion was the better part of valor and didn’t tell her what I had intended to. It was sad, humbling and humorous all at the same time — but as a teacher and psychologist, I understood.

You can do the same

Sister Lawrence’s lost memory of me did not negate the enduring value of her inspiration. Sometimes all you have to do is tell somebody that they are going to be or do something, and if they like what they hear, they will likely work towards realizing your vision for them.

Might there be a child in your life who needs a boost — someone in whom you might instill some inspiration? Maybe you could even give them some direct help to get them over the hurdles they presently face.

It doesn’t take a lot of words to inspire somebody, just a poignant comment at the right time. And who knows, maybe they will remember you 10 or 15 years from now when they look you up to let you know they achieved what you inspired them to do.