Dress Code Infraction: The Nun in Charge Called Us Terrorists
9/11, knee high socks, and a nun on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
I attended Catholic school from pre-K until 8th grade. This was way too long in my opinion but it was important to my parents, my grandmother, and my great uncle who was a priest.
It is not breaking news that most Catholic schools require a uniform. I will say the number one pro, perhaps the only pro, of having to wear a uniform is that you don’t have to worry about picking out a school outfit the night before or in the morning.
My first grade year we wore a really pretty tone of peach for our blouses and a warm, neutral plaid for our skirts and/or jumper dresses.
Sadly that warm palette changed the next year. Why? I don’t know. Gone was my warm peach and in came gray and white, with a weird eggplant tone as its accent color. I was not a fan.
Now with a dress code comes other “rules”. Minimal makeup (obviously not a concern until I was a pre-teen) was a big one. I had horrendous acne from fifth grade on and needed to wear heavy coverage foundation on top of concealer. This was a challenge. Accessories came into play as well, which are the main feature of this unusual tale that occurred when I was in 8th grade.
Socks to be exact. Now I don’t remember the exact details of what kind of socks were allowed but I do believe they had to be white or grey with minimal detail. I remember branded ones being allowed, like the embroidered Gap anklets. The socks that caused the commotion of this story were worn on a gym day.
On gym days we wore gym uniforms. They were light grey sweatpants, shorts, tees, and sweatshirts. A real nightmare when you had your period. White socks were expected with your sneakers. On this day, a female classmate who played soccer thought it would be fun to bring in socks for us to wear with our uniforms. They were soccer socks so they went up the leg pretty high and were colorful - I remember blue and red.
In the mornings we sat in the school gym before going to our classrooms. We sat grade by grade. My classmate dispersed the socks to everyone in our class which was 18 people. I cannot remember if anyone chose not to wear the socks but I do remember that the vast majority of us did, even the really good kids.
Our principal, who was a nun, walked over and saw our brightly colored feet, commencing the countdown to meltdown. What happened next I still can’t explain other than watching a woman who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown going all the way. You see, this was right after 9/11 happened. While I did not live in NYC, Pennsylvania was close enough. We were all pretty spent. I watched people jump to their deaths on live TV when I was 13. You get it.
She was clearly angry with us, which wasn’t totally shocking as she wasn’t the nice nun I had ever met. Her predecessor was a real sweet lady and we all missed her at times like these. I couldn’t tell you the exact dialogue but one word stuck out and still is very vivid in my head. Terrorists. She called us terrorists for wearing colorful soccer socks. The look of horror on everyone’s faces when those syllables left her mouth left us wondering - what next?
In retrospect, as an 8th grader in 2001 you might get called some cruel things: chubby, pizza face, stupid, etc. This was expected. A comparison to Mohamed Atta? Not so much. A recent discussion with a classmate brought up another term we were called that day, which got overshadowed by the terrorist comment. Drug dealers. We were also called drug dealers. Specifically ones who sell OxyContin. I didn’t even know what that was, I don’t think most of us did. My mom, who was a medical transcriptionist, had a big book on pills - so naturally I researched it later in the day.
The other vivid memories I have of that day were being forced to sit far apart (think social distancing) from each other at lunch and to eat in silence. Our cafeteria was depressing enough due to its basement location so the silence magnified the misery. We also maintained the social distancing and quiet at recess (held in our gym, as there was no outside area to play).
I was a pretty great kid who rarely got into trouble. So the deafening silence throughout the day led me to spiral, pondering what my parents would think of their sock terrorist? I went with the not-guilty approach after school, hoping to gain their sympathy. I cried and listed many reasons why I wasn’t a member of Al-Qaeda. Alas, when my classmates’ parents heard the same news as mine, we had nothing to worry about at all. Our parents weren’t going to tolerate it and the nun’s career working with children quickly came to an end.
When given the decision about where to go to high school, I opted to attend my borough’s public school. My brother had went Catholic all the way and regretted it. He didn’t want me to have the same regret and I was lucky that my parents allowed me to choose between the two.
While I do appreciate the work ethic and discipline that Catholic school instilled in me, it also left some pretty deep scars. I do believe the suppression of wardrobe individuality made me the creative person I am today, so in an odd way I am thankful.
I dedicate this to my former mentor, author Steve McKee, who passed away in 2014. He was in NYC on 9/11 and told me many stories of that day. He always supported my writing, frequently giving me suggestions and edits. I will always remember him and am eternally grateful for his presence in my life.