|
Tom Merdan
Cruelty in High School
When we look back on our high school years, we usually remember the good parts—friends, teachers who shaped us, and moments that still make us smile. But during a recent time of devotion and reflection, my mind wandered to the other side of those years. The darker side. The moments of cruelty—both my own and that of others.
The one instance of my own behavior that still lingers involved our librarian, a nun whose name I can no longer recall. She was strict about keeping the library quiet, and my friends and I often spent study hall there. As a senior, thinking myself clever, I set an alarm clock on top of a low bookshelf and timed it to go off at noon. I told several people to be in the library to witness the chaos. It took her several minutes to find the source of the noise. At the time, I thought it was hilarious. Today, I see it differently. It wasn’t funny—it was unkind.
Cruelty among classmates was more common. One of my friends had his lunch stolen regularly during our freshman or sophomore year. That ended only when his mother replaced the cheese on his sandwich with soap. I never saw that as cruelty—more like justice served with a sense of humor.
Then there was Michael Nix. I hope I’m not the first to say this, but I’m sorry. I watched him be humiliated by others and did nothing. Silence can be its own form of cruelty, and I regret mine.
Two teachers also stand out in my memory.
The first was Larry Haws. My introduction to Cathedral High School came on the very first day of homeroom. He walked into the room, approached a student who smiled at him, and slapped him across the face. Later, someone told me that the year before, he had thrown a student out a first-floor window of the North building—ten feet or more. That was my welcome.
And then there was Father Jude.
In my memory, he was no “father” figure. As a religion teacher, he neither taught nor modeled the compassion of Jesus. Instead, he was often cruel, publicly humiliating, and seemed to take a strange satisfaction in it. His punishments were designed to embarrass—making boys hold Bibles in outstretched hands until they dropped them, mocking them when they did, or assigning absurd reports on topics like “the sex lives of ping pong balls.”
I can’t remember why he singled me out one day, but I do remember the setup. He asked us to anonymously write down something we were thankful for—a seemingly wholesome exercise. But he proceeded to read some aloud, looking for opportunities to mock them. Mine was vain—I wrote “my physique”—and he pounced on it. Thankfully, I was somewhat shielded by the presence of several jocks in the room.
But the real singling out came when he assigned me a report on “the sex lives of Mickey and Minnie Mouse.” After the embarrassment faded, I found myself angry and determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. So I wrote the paper—but I turned it into an exploration of love itself. It may have been the best term paper I wrote in high school.
I dug into books about the different kinds of love:
Eros (romantic passion), Philia (deep friendship), Storge (familial affection), Agape (unconditional, selfless, God-like love).
I can’t remember how I tied it back to Mickey and Minnie, but I know I managed it. What I do remember is his reaction. He was surprised. All he said was that it was good. And with that, the humiliation ended.
I share all of this not to condemn anyone. During my devotion time today, for reasons I can’t fully explain, Father Jude came to mind first. I found myself praying that at some point in his life, he came to know Jesus in a saving way—that he, like all of us, recognized that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and sought the forgiveness offered through Christ’s sacrifice.
As for me, he has my forgiveness—and, strangely enough, a small measure of gratitude. Even painful memories can become teachers when viewed through grace.
|
So fun to see so many classmates!
