Your Mom Has a Vision

Your Aunt Carrie and I went to Maria High School on the south side of Chicago. It was about 2 miles from home, but on the city bus line. So, like every other Catholic school kid, we rode the city bus to school. Sometimes the bus got really crowded, and the driver would just pass the stop you were waiting at because there was no freaking way he was fitting another teenager with a trombone case onto his bus. It was especially bad in the winter when you had to wait for the bus in your school uniform because we weren't allowed to wear those unladylike blue jeans to school. So, there you would be, freezing on the corner, and the bus would just whiz by, filled with lucky kids who had gotten on a stop or two earlier. Those kids would look at you, like they were better than you. And they were. They were on a warm but crowded bus on their way to school, and you were stuck in the cold waiting for the next one. You could just imagine them saying, "Sucks to be yooooouuuuuuuu...." as they rode past. Great way to start the day. It was only a matter of time before I became a member of The Missed Bus Club. After missing mine one morning I joined the ranks of other tardees and made my way to the office for some sort of special dispensation that allowed us admission to our classes.  Now, I had been in many first periods where people walked in late. It was almost always the bus and everyone knew it. So, the stragglers would go to their class, hand their special admission slip to the teacher, and sit down. There wouldn't even be a break in the lecture.  On this day, I quietly entered my sociology class like all the other miscreants I had seen do in the past. But something was different. Instead of just putting out her hand for my golden ticket, my teacher stopped class and asked me why I was late. What? Why was she doing this to me? Everyone knew it was the bus...was I supposed to be an example? I figured she must have thought there was a fantastic reason for me to be late. So I gave her one. "Well," I started," are you familiar with the corner of 59th and California?" At this point, the look on here face told me that she had expected me give the standard bus answer, but I was too invested in my story to let it go. "The corner of 59th and California is very busy this time of the morning. Lo and behold, right in the middle of the intersection appeared a vision of St. Casimir. He was surrounded by lights and glorious music...well, all traffic was screwed up from that point on, and my bus just got here." My teacher just sat there. She took my pass and didn't say a word. Class went on as usual. I thought that this was the end of the matter until I was getting my books out of my locker later in the day. An adulty  voice behind me said,  "I hear you saw a vision today."  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the familiar folds of a nun's habit and I knew I was busted.  See, the nuns who policed our education were the Sisters of St. Casimir, a religious order from Lithuania. I cannot remember the name of their founding city, and it has probably changed names several times since then. This place was a war torn area that turned out tough little nuns (who, in my mind, were no strangers to the tortures of war.) Mother Maria Kaupas was the founder of the order. In fact, my senior year, we presented a musical adaptation of her life for the stage, entitled: To Kaze, With Love." It was kind of like Fiddler on the Roof, with all the harshness of life, but without the chance of love. And St. Casimir made everything better. Being the president of the drama club that year, I was hoping for West Side Story, but I was voted down by anyone of any importance. We took our nuns seriously. The fact that I still remember all this shows how important it was to the nuns. So, in a slight panic, I turned around to see my inquisitor. It was Sister Kathleen, the senior art teacher. I didn't even have her for classes, but it seems that she knew me. She was young and smiling broadly. Turns out that the story of my vision had made it to the teachers lunch table. I started describing the lights and glorious music, but she just smiled and patted me on the arm.  Once again, the miracle of St. Casimir came through for a person in need.