So many mistakes, so many regrets, so many things that should have been unsaid, so many feelings that were hurt.

Sister Carla Marie, Mrs. Santoro, Sister Kristen Marie, and the dreaded Mrs. Maria Luciano. Sister Carla was my home room teacher for 7th & 8th grades. She was a nice young woman, perhaps close to me and my classmates in age. She was a sensitive type and we were somewhat respectful. Mrs. Santoro taught the other 7th grade class that I was not in. I do not remember what her subjects were. Mrs. Santoro was not as sensitive as Sister Carla.

Sister Kristen was the school principal and she was nice. She followed Sister Althea who was a force of nature. You could hear her footsteps coming down the hall and the speed of her heels on the floors gave us a clue as to what her mood was. Mrs. Luciano was not a nice person. I didn’t realize it at the time but in hindsight I saw how she was especially abusive to me.

One time she had me sit on a garbage can for some reason when my class left and a new class came in. She was fond of saying there was no such thing as a mafia which was a clue that there was such a thing and she more than likely knew some members of that organization. She was also into telling us about the Manson family and how they would creepy crawl though unsuspecting peoples homes.

One time towards the end of my time at St. Francis de Sales there was a party for my graduating class. We had been learning to do a dance called the Continental which was set to the Hustle by Van McCoy. During the party Mrs. Luciano poured some soda on me. I, in turn, took my napkin and dipped it in my soda and rubbed the wet napkin on her bare arm.

This of course, made her do what any teacher would do. Shove my face in the cake in front of me. I decided to take a slice of cake and shove it in her face. It was all in good fun I thought but it was not. The class went wild and the party ended abruptly. I was called to the principal’s office and was told my graduation was in jeopardy.

I went home and told my mother who made sure I wrote a letter of apology to Mrs Luciano, telling her how wrong it was for me to do such a thing and mentioned a few times what a good teacher she was. Thankfully I was a creative writer then (as opposed to now) and hand wrote about 5 other copies of the letter in case she tore up the first one. I could give one of the letters to the principal.

I was able to graduate that year with my classmates. I was the star student, at the height of my powers, academically and socially. The graduation party was at the North Pole Restaurant in Lodi and my class all did the Continental once more, for the last time to Van McCoy’s The Hustle. I took a photo of Mrs. Luciano, who resented the fact that I had gotten away with shoving cake in her face. Mrs. Luciano hid behind the cloth napkin, not wanting to have anything to do with me, the boy whom she had abused for 2 years.

I never went back to St Francis de Sales, and why would I? It still pops up in my dreams from time to time.