I attended catholic school, living just a hop, skip and a jump from the church grounds, which included the school, the church, the rectory, and the convent. While that was great when I was young, it proved a bit unsettling later on, being under "the eye" of "the godplex"...couldn't get away with anything, without the whole parish knowing by Sunday morning. Not that I was a bad kid, in fact, I was nicknamed "goodie two-shoes", but I had eight brothers and sisters, and everyone on the southside knew of our family.
Prior to living across the street from the school, my huge family somehow managed to live in a two bedroom house, about a mile walk to school. And walk, we did. My parents built the new house which had six bedrooms. We actually only used five of the six bedrooms--the sixth was a spare. For what, you may ask. Exactly. To rent out, apparently.
One day at school, my teacher asked our class, if anyone knew of a room for rent within walking distance of school. Light bulb going off. When it was lunchtime, I ran home and told my mom what my teacher had asked. Mom had me tell her to come over after school, and she would talk to her.
Miss Driehaus was like the Pied Piper as she walked across the school grounds, being followed by some eight or ten kids. I, being in the lead.
I don't know what mom and my teacher discussed specifically, as we kids, were not allowed to listen in when adults were having a conversation. But, the room was acceptable, and my teacher moved in.
And so began, three years of my favorite teacher ever, living in my house. I was ten. She was young, fresh out of college, and beautiful. Being from Chicago, she returned there each summer. In the fall, she would come back again to teach.
To this day, we are still friends! I love you, Miss Driehaus!
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