In the Shadow of Fundamentalism

Chapter 1, Part 2

Set the Stage

The first morning was fitful and misty as we all stood outside the brick and blue exterior of the former St. Patrick’s Catholic School building. Wisps of dew and fog lay across the busy lanes of Dennison Parkway as we collected in little groups chatting idly with our friends and nervously waiting for the first day of classes at Hope Christian Academy.

Most of what we knew about this school came from that first meeting, and a hastily Xeroxed handbook containing our dress code, the school’s system of written rules, and the outline of our disciplinary system. “Spare the rod and spoil the child” was the philosophy of the school’s architects, and all of our parents had to sign a corporal punishment waver that released our professors to spank students in cases of extreme disobedience. There was also a complicated demerit system in place, designed by the principal and his fellow teachers to document and track our sins in a public forum. The system, given the acronym “H.O.W. I. A.C.T.” was intended to observe and mark each infraction by type and by frequency. In their logic, the teachers hoped to identify behavioral problems and modify them be keeping a record of consistent types of misbehavior.

The “H” stood for “hullabaloo,” any form of noisy and distracting mischief committed by a student in an otherwise quiet class setting. “O” was for “out of order,” for whenever a student committed any act that was outside expected behavior. Incomplete homework assignments would be noted with a “W” for “work not in.” “A” stood for “attitude,” and was used to discipline a student for a blatantly uncooperative demeanor. Social complicity was enforced with “C” for courtesy. Talking in class would be awarded a “T.”

The most dreaded category in the entire system was the “I,” which stood for “intentional disobedience,” the most grievous of offenses. A student earning an “I” for direct contradiction of his teacher’s orders would be sent immediately to the office for corporal discipline, and a note sent home to his parents.
The system was designed with a large cork board in every room. The board bore the names of each grade’s members in descending vertical order, and seven envelopes horizontally from the name to mark each type of offense in the “How I Act” system. The numbers varied by age, with tolerance for disobedience lessening by high school, but the basic premise was that perhaps fifteen total infractions in a week, or six in a single day could earn a student a spanking. When the student was spanked, the teachers were instructed to clear the slate, and start counting the daily sins and failings anew.

While I was apprehensive about these demerits, or “tallies” as they were called, I felt that a good boy like me in my fresh white oxford shirt, grey slacks, and maroon clip-on tie couldn’t possibly be so unfortunate as to earn himself a reputation as a troublemaker.

Still apprehensive about the new society in which I stood, I scanned the other children standing outside the glass doors of our new school searching for familiar faces. My older brother, a gregarious and humorous sort, was standing and chatting with other boys in his grade.

My eyes came upon two people immediately: the first was my first love, Shannon Little. She was a sweet little Hailey Mills look alike with giant blue eyes who I had known since I was six. Her father and mine worked together, and her family had recommended Christian Hope Center to mine when we first moved to the Corning area. I stole a few glances at her standing in a plaid jumper and remembered us drawing in crayon on the floor of my father’s office when we were little. Her excitement about how real and amazing my crude little drawings were made me want nothing more than to draw every minute of every day for the rest of my life.

The second person I noticed because he made me feel less out of place. This chubby little fellow with glasses and a crooked tie looked like I felt: brainy, socially awkward, quiet, and slightly uncomfortable in this setting. To add to our immediate kinship, he held in his hand a nearly concealed Transformer, a small token of his interest in what passed for high science fiction at our age.

I knew this boy’s name because his mother taught Sunday school at the church, and his older brother and mine were becoming close friends. Everyone who met him noted how incongruous his introduction seemed; this chubby little boy was called Spike. I knew nothing of the story how he got his name, or if he had a real name, all I knew was that he was also out of place, and would be easy for me to talk to.

I can’t recall exactly how I broke the ice, or what precipitated our chatty exchange about the transformer in his hand, but I immediately admired him for being smart, and for being aloof. Where the rest of us seemed to be looking for comfort, or for a clique to join, he stood by himself in the mist and thought.
Grades at HCA were broken not by age or by teacher, but rather by quantity. Usually two close grades were grouped together under a single teacher, and since the school only went as high as ninth or tenth grade, the number of teachers was small. I found, to my disappointment, that Spike was grouped with the high school kids, and no one was quite sure where fourth and fifth grade belonged. I realized quickly how disorganized this experiment had become.

posted by NY Monk @ 6:31 PM