I learned respect while protecting myself at all times

Mike Tasos

These days, watching the national news is akin to watching a scary movie: Cover your eyes and don’t peek. Eventually, you are forced to look and deal with the carnage and gore.

Inevitably, you ask yourself: “Why do I even watch this stuff?”

There’s no way to call what happened at that Nashville school anything other than sickening and appalling. Feel free to add any other descriptions and we’re on the same page.

The Nashville tragedy, naturally, inspired others to get in on the action in the form of students making threats of violence. In a world gone mad, it points firmly to this type of imitation being a twisted form of flattery.

I have nothing but admiration for Forsyth County Sheriff Ron Freeman’s recent stern warning that not only are threats by students unac - ceptable, those making the threats will be arrested. Freeman and his deputies have made good on those promises.

I can’t imagine any parents condoning behavior from their children. I don’t know when all this started, but I can remember being in grade school and can picture how this would have gone over In Saints Peter and Paul School in Wilmington and St. Lawrence School in Bakersfield, both in California.

The Wilmington school was staffed by a crew of nuns who meant business. It wouldn’t have surprised me if one or two of them were on parole for unsanctioned fighting. Whatever the transgression, it was always followed by an Irish nun, probably fresh off the boat from Dublin, pockets stuffed with cash after winning her share of unsanctioned bouts held below deck, promising: “It’ll be God help ya’ when I get through with you.”

No matter how tough you thought you were, I swear it was time to throw yourself at their mercy, taking inspiration from the late boxing referee Mills Lane whose “protect yourself at all times” pre-fight admonition to combatants always came into play.

Throw in a little ring announcer Michael Buffer’s “Let’s get ready to rumble” and the stage was set for a one-sided bout. Channeling a little Muhammad Ali, I learned to work on my footwork. I can’t fathom what would have happened if I ever threw a punch.

The Wilmington nuns were mostly Irish and, being a Notre Dame fan, I learned why the South Bend school earned it well-known “Fighting” moniker. If that wasn’t intimidating enough, these sisters had a ringer who was the group’s enforcer.

Sister Monica was not much taller than us fourth graders and I knew she wasn’t Irish. Her skin was dark and that’s when I discovered that there were many East Indians who hailed from Fiji. She put her cricket skills to good use, wielding a pointer or those thin, green bamboo sticks, which made a terrifying “whoosh” when Sister Monica was open for business.

With her shrill, piercing voice, sound strategy was to duck and cover. She morphed into some kind of Rocky Marciano, relentless in her offense and never losing a battle.

Some of you parents may be recoiling in horror at these escapades, but I’ll swear on a stack of rosary beads that it’s true. Mostly.

What is totally true that we learned to be respectful and obedient or were sent home. Unlike today, math equations and solutions made sense. When my sons were in school, the convoluted way to solve multiplication problems that was being taught was terror in its own right. How could something so simple be so confusing?

Admittedly, we did bring weapons to school. A McDonald’s plastic straw as a perfect vehicle for firing spitballs towards classmates. Even then, we didn’t get off unscathed. Upon getting caught, we were handed brooms and dustpans. A month of sweeping classrooms made me long for a shot at Sister Monica’s undefeated string.

Mike Tasos has lived in Forsyth County for more than 30 years. He’s an American by birth and considers himself a Southerner by the grace of God. He can be reached at miketasos55@gmail.com.