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Several times in my past blogs, I discussed my speech impediment and the fact that when I was in first grade, my teacher, Sister Alvera, called my mother to tell her I was retarded because of the way I talked. But Sister Alvera did more than just call my mother.

I went to school at a time when corporal punishment was not only acceptable but anticipated. According to Wikipedia, corporal punishment “is the use of physical force intended to cause pain or discomfort for discipline or punishment. Types include spanking, paddling, slapping, pinching, and shaking. While used to deter misbehavior, research shows it is ineffective and causes negative physical, mental, and social outcomes.”

I have vivid memories of Sister Alvera pushing me, slapping me, hitting me, kicking me, and locking me in closet for the afternoon. Was my inability to speak correctly a sign of retardation or truly a sin? Is language a reason to brutally punish any child? But no matter what the answer is I seemed to continually irritate Sister Alvera with my inability to speak correctly, and her punishments were quick and brutal. She used physical intimidation and corporal punishment as tools for classroom management. Most students only had to be hit once to change their behaviors, but I could not change my speech patterns overnight so the abuse continued throughout the entire school year.

I remember every morning before school crying to my mother and begging her not to make me go. My mother would slowly loose her patience as she continually asked me why I was refusing to go to school. I couldn’t tell her. I thought the abuse was my fault. This response is very common in children. According to the article “The Moral Defence—Why Children Blame Themselves” by Kathryn Spencer on the InnerFocus Website dated November 12, 2022, “Children often believe abuse is their fault because they lack the cognitive tools to process trauma and naturally seek a sense of control over an unpredictable environment. This self-blame is frequently a survival strategy or a result of manipulation by the abuser.

• Egocentric Thinking: Children in early developmental stages naturally see themselves as the center of their world. They often assume that if something bad happens, they must be the cause.
• Need for Control: Believing they are the problem gives children an illusory sense of control. If the abuse is their fault, they may believe they can stop it by “being better” or changing their behavior.
• Preserving Attachment: Children are biologically driven to see their caregivers as safe and “good.” Accepting that a caregiver is harmful is more terrifying than believing they themselves are “bad.”
• Lack of Perspective: Younger children may not realize the behavior is wrong, especially if it is presented as normal by a trusted adult.” 

I thought I deserved Sister Alvera’s punishment because I was a disruptive, stupid child being taught by a nun in a Catholic school who seemed convinced that any inabilities was a mark of sin. I couldn’t tell my parents because I was terrified that I would get in more trouble with my father who was already convinced of my worthlessness and wasn’t opposed to hurtling insults and slaps at me on any occasion. The inability to express myself and the thought of facing more abuse at home kept me silent throughout the school year.

So I wouldn’t tell my mother anything about my experiences at school and as a result I received a perfect attendance award at the end of the year. I didn’t go to school because I enjoyed it. My perfect attendance award was just proof that I was playing into the experience. I was trying to convince myself that everything was fine and the situation was totally normal but deep inside of myself I knew that there was nothing normal about this at all. So as a six year old child, I was depressed, angry, and even suicidal. Of course, I didn’t do anything about it; however, I thought a lot about death. I don’t know if this was because of my connection to the church and all the talk of heaven and hell or my own innate understanding. Is everyone born knowing they are going to die some day? I don’t know, but I thought about it a lot as a child.

Then one night, I was lying in bed crying deep, heartfelt sobs. I don’t remember exactly why I was crying. I only remember being hurt and afraid. Well, I must have eventually cried myself to sleep because the next thing I knew it was morning. The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was golden sunlight pouring in through the window across from my bed. I just watched the sunlight, fascinated by its glimmering rays that lit up the bedroom. I was lying on my back with my left hand resting palm up next to my head on the pillow. I suddenly became aware of a warm pressure in my hand. I turned my head and a saw smooth hand with long, slender fingers resting in mine. My eyes followed the hand up the arm to the shoulder until I found myself staring into the face of an angel who was sitting by my bedside. The angel was dressed in  a long, white robe with her wings rustling softly behind her. Her halo lit up her clear, loving face and golden hair. Her lips curved into a gentle smile before her hand slipped out of mine, and she began to move away from me. She floated effortlessly across the room and through the shaft of light that drifted in through the window. The golden glow followed her out of the room and left behind just normal morning light.

I hadn’t told anyone about this before mainly because it just seemed so natural to me. I had the feeling that it wasn’t the first time an angel had been with me. However, it was the first time that I had recognized what had happened and could fully recognize and remember the incident.  I never could have predicted my momma’s reaction, though.

One day when I was about 14 years old, as my mom drove my siblings and me along the highway to somewhere and nowhere at the same time, she started to tell us about the discussion she had with Sister Alvera when I was a small child. I don’t know what suddenly triggered this discussion but Mom may have just needed to talk. I knew that my first grade teacher had called me stupid, but I hadn’t known until that moment that Sister Alvera had labeled me as retarded to my parents and the school administration. Listening to Mom’s story, I didn’t cry. I didn’t get upset. For some reason, my only response was to tell the story of seeing the angel the morning after I had cried myself to sleep. I didn’t tell my family about any of the abuse. I only talked about the vision of the angel.

But as I finished my story, I suddenly realized that Mom had been quietly driving along the highway. Then she parked the car on the side of the road and, without acknowledging me, she put her head in her hands and cried for 20 minutes.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporal_punishment

https://www.innerfocustherapy.co.uk/post/the-moral-defence-why-children-blame-themselves