It is later evening on the East Coast and all the real "Breaking" diaries have been written. This is DKos, where anything goes, even for trolls. I thought I would take the time to write something about my life and hopefully find something about yours. Few people have boring stories, unless you are a greedy Wall Street bastard and we can already write the script.
I was not born a poor black child and I do know the difference between shit and shinola. Other than that, here is my tale.
1968 was the year I was to graduate from high school. In April, Dr. King was assassinated -- June, Bobby Kennedy. The Vietnam Conflict was a frigging nightmare and friends of mine already started to be prospective engravings on the granite Memorial on the Mall. Amidst that, I heard
about war
and hope
Upon graduation, I chose to intertwine the two competing themes of my generation: anti-war and pro-human -- I entered the order of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chambery. Yes, as naive as getting married at 18, I picked a life tied to vows of poverty, chastity and obedience with the hope that I could do something positive.
The Sisters of St. Joseph is a congregation which dates back to 17th Century France. It was a time when mostly cloistered orders existed. This community was founded with a Jesuit priest, Jean-Pierre Medaille in order to fill the vacuum left by the government -- the women were teachers and nurses and wanted to attend to the poor. The original order was divided between the small congregation in Chambery and the larger in Lyon during the French Revolution -- a time when religious were under threat of execution.
My community found its way to Lee, Massachusetts and ultimately to Hartford, CT where the Mother House still stands. I left this community in 1976 because I failed in obedience -- I'm Irish, it is in my genes. Nonetheless, I love these nuns as if they were my true sisters.
Here is what I know about these nuns: they were and are anti-war; they have invested heavily in anti-poverty programs; counseled girls who are part of gangs, given succor to the most ignored on our planet; promote environmental justice and on and on. I love these women. Let me tell you about one of my dearest friends.
Jenna (not her real name) came from a rural New England town and entered at 19. From day one, she wanted to go to Africa. She was repeatedly denied: get an education beyond high school -- she earned an LPN. No, you need more -- she became a nurse. Mmmm, not enough -- she earned a B.S. in nursing and became a royal pain in the ass -- she was sent to Liberia. Jenna tended to the most horrificaly abused people -- rape, gunshot wounds, limbs amputated by machetes. She faced death daily and finally escaped when the militia came to murder everyone in the clinic. She now works with those who might be completely hopeless in our own country -- giving them both medical care and a reason to fight for their rights.
I was just a teacher -- and not a great one. I was, however, for eight years, a member of a remarkable group of women. Women who had flaws like everyone else, but women who have pressed their fingers on the record of good deeds -- I see their prints and know their impact.
This is just a diary to honor good people in our world -- people who don't get bonuses, but work hard. People who are often ridiculed but still go to their morning prayers, mass and then work. People who have fashioned my life in a way I can never repay -- with ten thousand tranches. I love them.
Do you have a former life? Are there people you know -- or even you -- who are so much more valuable than any bonus on Wall Street?