Anna Teaches Me How to Read

i 1,460 words

"Anna Teaches Me How to Read"

I was in the second grade at Most Holy Trinity School in Williamsburg,
Brooklyn. My teacher's name was Sister Rose De Lima, a young Dominican
nun who, unlike most of the others in the school, was patient and kind.
Hardly did she ever raise her voice in class, even when troublemakers
like Ernest Verezzano interrupted her teaching by doing something funny
but silly. The following two years Ernest would pay for his misbehavior
when our teachers would be the third grade teacher Sister Alma Rita who
called herself "firm but fair," and the fourth-grade teacher Sister
Versalis whom the kids in the class feared. We called her "Emperor
Versalis" because she had a cruel streak and no punishment was beneath
her. Of course, we called her "Emperor" behind her back.

But in 1947 it was good Sister Rose De Lima who rarely lost her cool.
She was a new nun-- young and pretty. The other Dominicans were mostly
old and wrinkly. She sincerely loved children; you could tell that by
the way the class seemed relaxed in her presence. She was the first nun
I actually saw smile more than once. Before second grade I was
convinced nuns never smiled. Before seventh grade I was convinced nuns
never needed to go to the bathroom either, but that's another
story.

It was sad that Sister Rose De Lima left the convent after only three
years as a nun. Thanks to an old classmate of mine's mother, Mrs.
Accardi, I met her again in 1982 in Chula Vista, California. By then
she was in her 60s, retired, and living alone in a low-income
development under her birth name Pat Cottell. We became very good
friends despite the distance between us. She had confided in me that
she had left the convent because she had become romantically involved
with one of the priests at Most Holy Trinity. In the end he wanted
nothing to do with her and suggested she leave the convent. She did;
years later he went on to become a monsignor in Long Island. Pat and I
corresponded by writing and telephoning, and always we would pray for
each other. Towards the end of her life she became very ill. I was
terribly afraid of losing my friend, my former second grade teacher.
Then one day after St. Patrick's Day in 1993, I got a phone call from
one of her neighbors. Before going to the hospital for the
last time, Pat had left a note on her table instructing her neighbor
that if she should die to "call my friend Sal Buttaci and tell him not
to worry about me anymore. Tell him I've gone to Jesus."

But long before then she was my second grade teacher. One day-- it must
have been early in that school year-- Sister was calling on each child
to read a passage from the reader. Some of the children handled it very
well; some not so well, but when called on they all read a passage,
except me. I don't know why I refused to read. Maybe I was afraid I'd
make mistakes, not know how to pronounce some words, end up looking
stupid in front of the entire class. I much preferred it Buttaci/"The
Reading Lesson"/2

when Sister Rose De Lima read from Hector Mallot's classic book
Nobody's Boy, which she would do at the end of almost every school day,
provided we all behaved. So when I refused to read, she reminded me
that the class would not be able to hear the next adventure of poor
little orphan boy Ren? if I insisted on not reading. But I was adamant.
She ordered me to read. I sat there. The others in the class begged me,
even threatened me, but I kept my ground and my mouth tightly shut. I
sat there shaking my head at all of them.

"You have a sister in the upper grades, Salvatore, don't you?" she
finally asked. Oh, oh, I thought. If Sister tells Anna, Anna tells
Papa, and I will wish I had done the assigned reading out loud--
mispronouncing all the words if that was the way it had to be, rather
than hear my father say again, "I told you if you are fresh in school
and you don't do what the teacher tells you, the teacher will hit you
and when you come home I will give you the rest!"

"Salvatore," she said. "What is your sister's name?"

"Anna," I said. "She's in the seventh grade."

"Is she in school today?"

This sounded like an out for me! "I'm not sure, Sister." Which was one
big lie. Who was I kidding. It was Anna with whom I went to school each
morning. How did I get there if not with Anna-- cross streets by
myself? Not a chance. The first and last time I'd done that was on the
first day of school when Vinnie Accardi called me "Pewee" and I ran all
the way home, dashing from corner to corner of busy streets until I
made it home, only to get a beating from my hysterical mother who
screamed, "You coulda be killed!" with each wack she gave me. "You
coulda be hit by cars!" WACK! "Why you no stay ina school?" WACK!

Then Sister Rose De Lima sent one of the girls to the seventh grade.
"Go and bring Anna Buttaci to me," she said.

I sat there sweating. If only Sister would ask me one more time to
read. If only she would give me that one last opportunity to make a
fool of myself mispronouncing lots of words and saving myself from
being punished at home. But Sister had given me enough chances. She was
exasperated with me. I had pushed her too far.

My sister Anna walked into the room looking a little pale as if she
had been called because she herself was in trouble. "Yes, Sister?" she
asked.

"Your little brother refuses to read in front of the class. Does he
know how to read?"

"Oh, yes, Sister! My little brother knows how to read." Then Anna
turned to me and said, "Why won't you read to Sister? You know how.
You're a good reader."

Sister handed Anna the second-grade reading book and asked Anna to
read from a particular page. I sat there and listened to my big sister
read every single word without missing a beat-- not one hesitation, not
one faltering over a tough word, not a single word that sounded
suspiciously mispronounced. "Do you see how Anna read the page?" Sister
asked me. "Will you try to read a few paragraphs from the next
page?"

I was still sitting at my desk. Anna and Sister were standing in front
of me. Then Anna was standing at my side, pleading with her eyes,
nodding her head towards the book in my hands. "Read, Sal," she said,
so I figured, if I read now, maybe I can save myself later on when I go
home because Anna would probably not tell if I would only do what I was
supposed to do. Better late than never, I began to read, slowly at
first, then with confidence I picked up some speed and found myself
moving along like a guy who'd been reading all his life. Anna was
smiling at me. Sister was even smiling at me. When I lifted my head, I
noticed a few of the boys in my class making faces at me, hoping I
would laugh and spoil my reading success, but I ignored them, dropped
my eyes back into the book and continued reading like a pro.

"He CAN read!" said Sister. Anna smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Anna,
for helping your brother see how very easy it is to read. Isn't that
right, Salvatore?" I smiled and nodded too.

I trace my love of reading from that second-grade day when Anna came to
my rescue. Through the years Anna and I would trade books with each
other. She got me to read all the Taylor Caldwell books. Whenever I'd
go to a book sale, I'd always look for a book Anna would like. We were
both avid readers. But would I have been, I wonder, if Anna had not
been called to my classroom that long-ago day? I don't know. Perhaps.
Perhaps not. But I do know that when we got home that afternoon Anna
did not mention how obstinate I'd been in school. She did not tell our
parents I had dared to refuse reading out loud. Instead she told them
how Sister Rose De Lima had asked her to come and hear her little
brother read so well in front of the whole class. Thank you, Anna, for
what you did for me that day.

#

(C) 1999 by Salvatore Amico M. Buttaci