In two states where school-choice vouchers are available, many parents are choosing Catholic schools. After my own Catholic school experience, I think I know why.
The School-Choice Fight
A school-choice battle has been under way in many states across the country.
Parents want vouchers so they can pay private-school tuition. Public-school officials want every penny kept in the public system.
Most blue states have defeated school-choice efforts. Two red states, Florida and Texas, did not.
Florida made every child eligible for a scholarship of roughly $7,400 to $12,000 — more than 525,000 students now use one.
Texas this year opened Education Freedom Accounts — about $10,000 a seat for private school — and has awarded more than 100,000 of them, with a waitlist still longer than the program.
Unlike much of the country, where Catholic schools have been shuttering, more parents in Florida and Texas are choosing a Catholic education so their kids master right and wrong and get an excellent education.
Nuns Taught Tough Love
Unlike some public schools, in which teachers fear their students, at St. Germaine Catholic School we students feared the sisters.
The sisters ran their classrooms in a structured, orderly manner. They took guff from no kid.
The floors were so clean you could eat off them.
The blackboards had a brighter sheen than a Mercedes fender.
And our desks, subject to frequent, unannounced inspections, were expected to be organized at all times.
As for our attire, we weren’t permitted to wear the loose, sloppy clothing kids wear today. We wore trousers, blazers, a white shirt, and a tie.
The classroom had a clear sense of right and wrong. No daydreaming, no talking, no joking, and no doodling.
Each student was expected to put forth his best effort. Anything short of excellence was grounds for severe punishment — anything from a call home to Mom to a date with Sister Mary Brass Knuckles’ dreaded brass ruler.
As some of the funnier nuns used to say, they didn’t want us picking up any “bad habits!”
Parish Priest Demanded Excellence
Our parish priest, the Rev. Tom Kram, arrived in 1967, one year before I began first grade.
He was 43, stood 6-foot-1, and sauntered about the church and school grounds like a restless general.
When he wasn’t directing contractors on how he wanted the boiler repaired or the parking lot patched, he was monitoring the grounds.
One summer day, I rode my bike up to the baseball field on the hill high above the church. Some kid was tearing around the field on a dirt bike.
Suddenly, a green Crown Victoria came roaring up the narrow dirt road, causing the motorcyclist to flee.
“Who was that on the motorcycle?” Father Kram said after rolling down his window.
“I don’t know, Father.”
“You see him tearing up our field again, you tell him his next ride is going to be in the back seat of a cop car.”
I had my own unfortunate run-in with him when I was 17. To avoid a red light, I cut through the church parking lot — at the same time he was racing out of it. It’s a miracle we didn’t collide head-on.
As I sped onto Baptist Road, I was horrified to see in my rearview mirror that Father Kram had turned around and was in hot pursuit. You have no idea what stress means until you try to elude your parish priest while obeying the traffic laws.
Though he ran our parish like a precision manufacturing operation, he enjoyed life and loved to laugh.
Somewhere along the way, he learned that my childhood nickname, given to me as a joke, was Budja (pronounced BOOD-ja). This proved to be a great source of amusement for him.
One day before Easter, we were brought to the confessional to cleanse our souls. There was nothing less pleasant for a kid than telling Father Kram what he’d been up to. Since a screen separated the penitent from the priest, the trick was to disguise your voice. I recited my list of sins in a low voice and exaggerated dialect — a 10-year-old Jimmy Cagney, see.
After I received my penance, I said, “Thank you, Father,” and he said, “God bless you, Budja.”
Father Kram made report-card day unpleasant for those of us who looked out the window daydreaming more than we tended to our studies. He handed out every report card in front of the class. If you got any grade lower than a B, he demanded answers.
He did this for a simple reason: He and the sisters demanded excellence because it was their job to prepare us for life.
Why Parents Still Choose Catholic Schools
Everyone at St. Germaine — the sisters, priests, and lay teachers — understood that a daily civil war takes place in every human heart and every society.
They did their best to teach us right from wrong through their actions and words.
As the world gets more confusing every day — as we lose our grasp of right and wrong and debate whether such concepts even exist — I fully understand why so many parents want to send their kids to Catholic schools.
If your state hasn't won the school-choice fight yet, keep at it. Father Kram and the good sisters of St. Germaine are rooting for you.
Find Tom Purcell’s syndicated column, humor books and funny videos of his dog, Thurber, at TomPurcell.com. Email him at Tom@TomPurcell.com.
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