It’s “Tell the Truth Day” and, boy, does that trigger a memory!

It was the fall of 1968 and I was a 5th grader at Sacred Heart Elementary School in Pittsfield, Massachusetts.

There were two fifth grade classes, taught by Mrs. McGill and Sister Helena Maria. On the first day of class, our names were called. My two best friends – Elizabeth Cross and Anne Marie Cuzzone – were thrilled to be in Mrs. McGill’s class. I crossed my fingers that I’d join them.

My maiden name is Vayo. When your last name starts with “V,” that means you’re always the last to be called and the last in line. I vowed that day to marry an Anderson or Brown. (We all know how that turned out … one letter further on down the line for our children to endure.)

When my name was finally called, I sighed. Over to Sister Helena Maria’s classroom I walked.

Truth be told, Sr. Helena Maria had a bad reputation. It was 1968 and she didn’t see the world the same way as the rest of us.

She was Old School.

As a “good girl,” I really didn’t have a problem with Sister. It just wasn’t any fun. It was going to be a long year.

A few months later, the classroom was all aflutter with anticipation. Rumor had it there was a new girl – Mary Ann Lambert – who would join our class that day.

Mary Ann seemed nice. The boys checked her out approvingly. All the girls crowded around her in the church parking lot we used as a playground.

I waited.

There was a song on the radio then, which rang true with me:

Boy, oh boy, I’m glad I held back.

Mary Ann, in her eagerness to fit in, apparently asked girl after girl if they’d like to be best friends.

Well, of course, the answer was “yes” time and again. But within a few days, the various girls had compared notes and discovered there was something going on and they didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Suddenly all those “best friends” turned into mean girls.

I’m not sure what was said, but shortly after recess one afternoon, while the class was quietly studying, Mary Ann burst into tears and ran noisily from the room.

We all glanced up, amazed. Apparently no one had told Mary Ann that you had to ask permission to leave the room. Or to cry, for that matter.

“You! Go after her!” bellowed Sister Helena Maria.

Imagine my horror when I realized Sister was pointing at me.

I scrambled from my desk and ran out into the hallway, just in time to see Mary Ann disappear into the Girls Room.

I followed her, only slightly gagging from the disinfectant that squirted into the air with each flush.

Mary Ann and I were all alone in the Girls Room. Only she was in a stall, with the door locked. Sobbing uncontrollably.

Mary Ann? Mary Ann? Can you come out?

My voice wasn’t usually timid, but I knew I was out of my league.

I tried again, my voice echoing off the putrid-green walls.

Mary Ann? Please come out. Sister wants us back in class. Please?

But it was already too late. The door to the restroom slammed open and an agitated Sister Helena Maria strode in, the big wooden rosary beads hanging from her nun waist swinging over and clanging against the sink.

“What’s going on in here? Mary Ann! What’s the matter” There was nothing soothing in our teacher’s tone. She’d left the rest of the class unattended.

Mary Ann sniffled. “Oh, Sister! They all hate me!”

Sister would have none of it. She shook her head and replied, “Don’t let that bother you. They all hate me, too.”

And then Sister turned to me and demanded: Don’t they?

Sweet suffering Jesus, my short life flashed before my eyes. I knew I should tell the truth. But that might get me killed.

And so I answered: Well, I like you, Sister …”

It was then that the die was cast. Little did I know it, but a career in public relations was waiting for me. Never once did I lie in all those years, but I also managed not to get myself killed by an angry nun.

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