Monthly Archives: April 2023

ADVERSITY CAN BE A GOOD SCHOOL

Catholic Elementary School

I’m older than most of the people who may be reading this, but still, I think my experiences may resonate with some of you at some level. I believe that the experiences I had and endured made me the person I ultimately became. When I was quite young in elementary school, I can remember making the decision to be true to myself at a young age. Even if that meant some people didn’t like me, including some of my family members. In a way, I became my own best friend.

The fact is that I’m not your run-of-the-mill person. I never follow the crowd. I didn’t try to fit in. I don’t and never felt the need to follow trends. I attended Catholic Parochial School, which means that I was forced o wear a uniform and shoes that everyone else wore. And woe be him or her who didn’t obey those rules and regulations.

I followed the rules regarding wearing the uniforms, including the hideous shoes, and wore a beanie. I didn’t have a choice. But, I didn’t agree with or follow all the rules regarding believing every word taught by the nuns. I was a quiet child, but I had my own mind and my own thoughts, and they often conflicted with the rules and the punishment that the nuns subjected children to in the 1960s. We were told in Church and our classrooms that wherever two or more of us gathered, there would be love. That certainly was not true in my experience for the twelve years I attended Catholic school.

I was a quiet child in the classroom. But, outside the classroom, I was always making jokes and telling tall stories to my friends and anyone who would listen. I’ve always had a highly active imagination.

Because I had a tendency to joke around with m fellow students, I found myself being hit with rulers with metal edges and being put in the boiler room for hours by the nuns. Or worst of all, being ridiculed in front of the class if I was asked a question. My mind would often go blank when I was asked a question out of the blue. And I would just stand there, struck dumb.

After twelve long years of these types of experiences, I developed the mindset of a prisoner of war. I recall one experience when I was in fourth grade. Sister Joseph Catherine, who was teaching us, called me up to Blackboard and asked me to complete the arithmetic problem. I was so frightened that I couldn’t think straight.

high school graduation picture

Susan Culver- high school graduation picture

And she yelled at me, came up behind me, grabbed me by my ponytail, and slammed my head repeatedly into the blackboard. After that, I tried to keep myself on guard against any type of behavior that might draw attention to myself around people with whom I was unfamiliar. People always described me as shy, but I wasn’t shy. I was protecting myself.

Some of my school experiences helped develop my imagination. For instance, this was a release from my everyday experiences that I had no control over. We had to go to confession on the First Friday of the month. As a child, I didn’t believe I really committed any mortal or venial sins as the nuns suggested that we all did. So, the week before I had to go to Confession, I used to spend some time making up some “good” sins to tell the priest in the confessional. I did this every first Friday of every month for the eight years that I attended Catholic grade school. Father Nolan (the priest I always confessed my sins to) said, “And are you sorry for all these sins you committed?’ And I would answer,” Yes, Father.” And then, for penance, he would tell me to” say three Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.” I  hadn’t committed any sins other than lying to the priest once a month about my sins.

Although the nuns were strict with all kids, they were particularly strict and tough on the boys, especially in the eighth grade. The nun that taught my eighth-grade class didn’t seem to have a problem pushing a boy down a flight of stairs if he acted out. I never understood why they were allowed to do that to anyone. At one point, I decided to tell my parents what was going on in school. And my mother said, “Do you want me to go up and talk to the nuns?” I said, “No.” Because I was afraid, that would make everything worse. Looking back, I wish I had told my parents to talk to the nuns to stop abusing me and the other kids.

In addition, my parents shouldn’t have left it up to me to decide what should be done. They should have taken matters into their own hands and complained to the school or perhaps removed me from Catholic School and enrolled me in the local public schools.

In addition, I live two houses away from the Catholic School, so whenever the nuns needed help in the classroom after school, during Summer break, or after a snowstorm, I was called in to help. Also, I had to go up to the convent where the nuns lived. It was about five blocks from my home. And I had to clean the storage room where the nun’s canned food was stored. And clean the cans and the room from top to bottom once a week. I’m not sure, but it’s possible that my parents were getting a discount on the Catholic School tuition because of the work we did in the convent, and in the school, in the summer and in the winter.

Of course, not all my experiences in Catholic School were negative ones. I made a great many friends. And I learned how to spell and do basic math. But, what I learned most thoroughly was English Grammar and writing. And to this day, I appreciate this skill that I’m still benefiting from in my writing and my ability to express myself verbally and in the written word.

I learned self-discipline and how to work hard and be thorough in everything I attempted to do in life. And overall, I have to say in every job I ever had in my life, I always excelled. I benefited from what the nuns taught me, albeit hard-won lessons.

This is me writing a new story.

I don’t really know how Catholic School children are disciplined nowadays. But, I hope by this point, the Catholic Schools and teachers have some deeper understanding and knowledge about child development and keeping control of a classroom without verbal and physical abuse of any kind. When I got married and had children, I enrolled them in public school. There was no way I would have wanted them to have the same experiences that I and my generation had to endure in the 1950s and ’60s.

So, overall, Catholic School was not entirely a negative experience, but it is one I wouldn’t want to repeat. It helped shape who I am to this day, and that is a strong, moral, hard-working, intelligent, and creative person who is not afraid of trying something new to this day. I am self-confident about my skills and my abilities. I’ve had to face many challenges during my life, but here I am, still intact and ready to face anything life has to offer me. In other words, What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger comes from an aphorism of the 19th-century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. It is generally used as an affirmation of resilience.

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AND THEY’RE OFF

As far back as I remember in my childhood, I recall my father talking about the Garden State Race Track in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. My father was a man who liked to gamble, play cards and bet on the horses. For years he bought lottery tickets. He even bought 55O cards from the Catholic Church. On one occasion, my mother and my father celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary, and they spent a weekend at a hotel on the Boardwalk in Atlantic City. My father played the slots and played cards. The trip was a wedding anniversary gift for my parents from my siblings and me. It was the first time my mother actually had a vacation of any sort.

I recall my father calling his bookie on our kitchen phone and placing bets. And occasionally, my father would bring my mother and me with him when he drove into Philly at night to place a bet directly with his bookie. For my mother and myself, it was an outing to the city. As we rarely went anywhere out of town, let alone visiting Philadelphia.  My father- 1960's

But one of the most outstanding memories I have is of my father and the Garden State Race Track, which was located in Cherry Hill, New Jersey—a town next to Maple Shade, New Jersey, where I grew up. My father won a photography contest through the local newspaper, the Courier Post. He took two photographs of a race at the Garden State Track. One was a panoramic image of the crowd watching the horses take off, shouting and screaming and jumping up and down. The second shot was of that same crowd looking in the opposite direction tearing up their tickets and throwing them in the air, and then slowly floating down to the grounds if they lost their bets. My father submitted these pictures, and they appeared on the front page of the Courier Post, and he won prize money.

I don’t know how much money my dad won. But it was probably more money than he ever had in his pocket at any one time. And so my father invited all my siblings, including myself, to go out to dinner at a restaurant that my sister-in-law’s brother owned. It was the one and only time that we all went out to dinner together with my parents. And it is one of my best and fondest memories of my family together and laughing and enjoying our time together as a family.

The Garden State track spurred a lot of activity and entertainment-oriented growth in Cherry Hill. In addition to the Garden State Track, a man whose name was Mori developed the Race Tack. He built the Cherry Hill Inn and the Cherry Hill FarmLogdge, and then finally, the Cherry Hill Shopping Center. Not to mention the fabulous and luxurious Rickshaw Inn on the opposite side of the Garden State Park Race Track. And eventually, The Latin Casino, where stars such as Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Liberace appeared to entertain the locals near and far. 

And addition, I took an adult night class at Cherry Hill High School, and it was being taught by none other than Jack Engelhard, the writer. He is known for his love of horse racing at the Cherry Hill Race Track and for writing books such as The Horseman, which became almost automatically a best seller, Indecent Proposal, and many more. It was his night class that inspired me to continue writing and growing as a writer. He often spoke of his love of horse races and the Garden State Track. And I have been doing just that. I have written a book and over three hundred short stories. You can find these stories at:https://susanaculver.com.

And then, I was offered an opportunity to show some of my Art Work at the Garden State Track, and I jumped at the chance. You can see one of my more popular artworks, a drawing illustrated in this blog. It is called “The Race.”.

The Race

So, as you can see, my father’s love of Horse Racing and gambling has been an inspiration of sorts. Although I had never been a gambler at heart before I moved to North Carolina, I hit the gambling machines at Trump Casino in Atlantic and took home $900.00 right out of his {Trump’s} pocket, you could say. So, when you play, you win some, you lose some. But you just got to know when it’s time to fold up those cards and hit the road. At the same time, you have more than lint in your pockets.

And maybe sometime in the future, before my time runs out, I’ll find my way back to Cherry Hill and revisit my father’s favorite place on the planet. Although it has changed and evolved over time since my Dad passed away, he probably wouldn’t recognize it. So, maybe it’s better to keep those memories safe and hidden away. I will always treasure those memories of my father and what an interesting and complex man he was. He was a voracious reader on every subject, including Eastern religions, although he never went to church.

My father inspired me with his example to continue to learn and grow and be creative. In fact, his lifelong example of his thirst for knowledge inspired me to go to college when I was thirty-six. I applied to all the art schools in the Philadelphia area and was accepted at all of them. I chose to attend Temple University, Tyler School of Art. And I graduated at forty in the top ten percent of Temple’s graduating class. It was one of the best experiences I ever had and one that I am immensely proud of. And I want to thank my father for his example of continuing to grow and learn throughout my life.

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God, I’m so fricking tired of this shit. Every morning I get up early, wake the damn kids up and feed them their fricking Cocoa Puffs. This is the thanks I get. That piece of shit won’t start again. I just had the battery replaced. So, what the hell is wrong with that bucket of bolts now? I’ll have to wake up Gerry and see if he can get it started. I have to take those brats to school. I have to go to traffic court for that trumped-up DUI ticket.

 Gerry, wake up. The hoopty car won’t start again. Get up.”

“What, what the hell do you want now? I just got to sleep a couple of hours ago. God, can’t you keep those kids quiet and turn down that damn TV.”

“Don’t you go to sleep again, you lazy good for nothing? You’re just another example of how I try to help people, and they end up taking advantage of me.”

“Alright, alright, let me put some pants on and take a piss. Can you give me five minutes?”

“Five minutes, that’s it. You get your sorry ass out on the curb and help me. You have been living here for a year and a half, and you never lift a hand to help me. And I let that brat of yours live here too. When you leave, she’s going with you. Keep that in mind.”

God, it’s so cold out here. What am I going to do if he can’t fix it? I’m tapped out. I used up all the child support this month already. That old bag of a mother won’t lend me another dime. I spend the SSI money on heating oil. My exes won’t fork over any more money. My credit cards are maxed out. Crap.

“Well, it’s about time you got your sorry ass out here. What took you so long?”

“I’m here now; let me try it. You probably just flooded it.”

“Well, can you fix it or not?”

“Not. I don’t know. Maybe the alternators dead, or it needs a new ignition system. You’ll have to take it up to Pep Boys and get it checked out. I’m going back to bed.”

“The hell you are. If I don’t get this piece of crap running, we’re all screwed. Do you have any money you didn’t tell me about?”

“Oh yeah, my hidden assets. You take my disability check the second I get it. Where would I get any money?’

“You think I don’t know that you’re selling meth out of my trailer out back. Come on, hand it over right now, or get the hell out of here. And take that skanky daughter of yours with you. I’m sick of her waking me up all night with her constant hacking. She always seems to have money for her smokes. Where’s she getting that money on her back?”

“Hey, don’t you talk about my daughter like that? Here I’ve got fifty bucks, that’s it.

“That’s not enough. I have to find some more money fast. I’m just going to take a credit card out in Harry’s name. I did the same thing with the older two. I don’t have any choice.”

“What the hell are you talking about? A credit card in Harry’s name; he’s only seven years old. And you did that to the other two too? Man, you really are one crappy mother. You’re always calling them names and knocking them around. Now you’re screwing up their credit too. What are you going to do next? Make Sissy prostitute herself?”

“She probably already does. But she won’t give me any money. Right now, I’m going to call my mother. See if she can come and pick up the kids and take them to school and then drop me off at court. I have to take care of that bogus DUI.

After traffic court, Meghan stands outside the police station trying to decide what to do next when her cell phone rings.

“Meghan, it’s your Aunt Tilly.”

“I know who it is, Aunt Tilly. What do you want? I’m having a hell of a bad day, and it’s not even lunchtime.”

“Meghan, it’s your Uncle Morty; he’s really bad. If you want to see him again, you better get your ass over here now. He isn’t going to last much longer.”

All I ever do is give, give, and give.  All I ever get back is crap. Nobody appreciates anything I do. How I keep food on the table and clothes on their backs. They never lift a hand to help me. Now I have to go visit my Uncle. What’s next? Do I have to serve food at the homeless shelter? Next thing I know, I’ll be living in the shelter along with those two brats of mine.

“Hi, Aunt Tilly. I got here as fast as I could. I had to go to court today. My car broke down again, and I had to take the bus to get here. It’s cold as hell out here. Can I come in? Can you give me a cup of coffee? I could eat too. I haven’t eaten anything today. I’ll go see Uncle Morty while you’re doing that.”

 Oh, Jeez, look at him. He looks like he is about to breathe his last breath. God, it freaking stinks in here. I hate old people. They stink. I ought to get a medal for this.

“Hi, Uncle Joe, it’s me, Meghan, I came to see how you’re doing. Aunt Tilly called this morning and said you weren’t feeling too well. Uncle Joe raises his limp hand and signals for Meghan to come closer. She leans in, and his breath almost knocks her over.

“Jeez, Uncle Morty, would it kill you to rinse out with some Listerine once in a while? So, what do you want to tell me?”

She hears him whisper, “Here. You were always my favorite.”

He hands her a paper. She looks down, and it’s a check. At that moment, she sees his hand drop-down, and he releases a long sour breath. She looks at him and lifts one of his baggy eyelids. He’s dead. She screams at the top of her lungs. Her aunt comes running in.

“For the love of god, what are you whaling about? You scared the hell out of me.”

Meghan points at Uncle Joe. Aunt Tilly says,” Well, if that don’t beat all. The first time I’m out of this dam room for more than five minutes, and he croaks. He was always such an inconsiderate bastard. What’s that in your hand?”

Meghan looks down at her hand and says, “I forgot. He handed this to me and told me I was his favorite. “It’s a check for…oh my god, it’s for one hundred thousand dollars. Is this for real?”

“Yeah, it’s real. He said he was going to leave you something. But I thought he was going to leave you his baseball card collection. He said that you and he used to collect those when you were a kid. And he took you to all the Phillies games. I guess you were his favorite. He didn’t leave your mother anything.”

“Holy crap, this is the answer to my prayers. Thanks, Aunt Tilly. I gotta be going. Let me know if I can do anything to help with the funeral. I have to get home to pick up the kids from school. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, you’re leaving now? Aren’t you going to at least wait until the mortician comes to pick up your uncle?”

“Naw, I can’t now, Aunt Tilly. I’ll call you later.” Meghan takes the 402 express bus home and gets off in front of the bank. She wants to cash the check before her aunt decides to stop payment on it or something. She walks up to the bank teller and hands the check over. “I want to cash this check. Can you put it all in one-hundred-dollar bills?”

The bank teller takes a look at the check and gives Meghan a look over too. “Can you wait a minute, please? I have to talk to the manager. I don’t know if we have enough cash on hand at this branch. We may have to contact the main branch to get this amount.”

About twenty minutes later, the manager calls Meghan over to her office. Here you go, Ms. Mullen; sorry for the wait. We had to get the cash from the main bank. I put the money in an envelope for you. I don’t recommend you walk around with this much cash. Perhaps you would like to open up a savings account and place some of this money here for safekeeping.”

“What? No, no, I’ll be taking it to… to my accountant tomorrow morning. Don’t worry about it. Thanks.”

 Oh, my freaking god, I’m rich, rich. Finally, I got what I deserved all these years. The first thing I’m going to do is get rid of that freaking piece of shit car and get those freeloaders out of my house. Then I’m going to take a vacation by myself. Maybe I’ll get lucky and meet a rich guy on a cruise or something, somebody with class.

One month later, Meghan returns from a gambling cruise on the Mississippi.  Her pockets are empty, and no rich guy in tow. Her mother meets her at the door.

“Well, it’s about dam time that you showed up, Meghan. These brats of yours are driving me half crazy. I had to let Gerry and his daughter move back in. I couldn’t cover your bills by myself. You neglected to leave me any money while you took your vacation. Your car still isn’t working. I hope you saved some of that money to get a new car or at least get that junker fixed. The least you could have done was stay for your Uncles funeral. Aunt Tilly was really pissed when you didn’t show up.”

“Goddam, it all to hell. Can’t I ever catch a break?

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