Beginning my career as a nineteen year old, I taught a classroom of fifty first graders that year (pictured at right).
The photo at left was taken by the same company that photographed the school children. My smile appears genuine. I was an enthusiastic teacher. I’d been well-trained and was comfortable with the curriculum. I was accustomed to helping children because I’d been a playground instructor in grade school.
In high school, I taught singing to kindergarten children and babysat kids in the neighborhood. My smile changed to angst at the end of each day when I returned to the convent.
In the classroom I was passionate. In the convent I was tortured.