By Ilene Black
I am a dyed-in-the-wool Catholic school girl. From kindergarten through high school, I wore uniforms, had religion class and was able to recite catechism like a champ.
The hem of my skirt hit right at my kneecaps (it may or may not have risen a bit by rolling it up at the waistline after I left the house). I believed that if I didn’t say “God bless you” after someone sneezed, they’d immediately drop dead. Yep, I was, and still am, a Catholic school girl. And proud of it.
I went to Incarnation School from kindergarten through eighth grade. I loved my time in that school. With great teachers and a great atmosphere, it was a wonderful place to grow up. So much so that we sent both our sons there.
Incarnation is closing after this school year. I find it hard to imagine that place NOT being full of uniformed kids enjoying pizza days, talent shows, Friday morning Mass, and the warm feeling of community that abounded. I have been thinking a lot about my memories of Incarnation lately, and so I’d like to share them here.
I remember having music class every week. I remember going to the library, which was a narrow room that held no more than four kids at a time. I remember Phonics songs that taught me how to read and how to LOVE to read, to this day.
I remember May crownings in the prayer garden, where the ground was squishy beneath our practical and ugly oxford shoes and the sound of young voices singing raised up through the warm air.
I remember the annual Strawberry Festival and later, the summer Carnival. I remember sitting in the dunk tank at that carnival and after my shift, running into the school to change out of my soaking wet clothes.
I remember going from third to fourth grade and “graduating” to the upstairs classrooms. I remember the thrill of bringing cupcakes for the whole class for my birthday.
I remember memorizing catechism for my Confirmation and praying that the Bishop didn’t call on me, even though I knew the answers. I remember going into the auditorium, which always had the faint smell of paint and cooking gas, for school events and sitting on a cold metal folding chair.
I remember navy blue jumpers with light blue blouses and later, green plaid jumpers, knee socks and new shoes every year, chapel veils that we girls had to wear on our heads every time we entered the church, bringing sneakers on gym day.
I remember bringing milk money into school in an envelope with my name, grade and room number on it. I remember collecting dimes for the March of Dimes fundraiser.
I remember graduating from Incarnation, wearing a white crepe dress that my mother made, and feeling terrified at the thought of leaving that safe sanctuary for the huge unknown that was high school.
I remember how surreal it was to become a parent of an Incarnation student. I remember Mc Donald’s Days and Pizza Days and hot dog lunches and substitute-teaching, being on the PTA and forming the Athletic Association and coaching cheerleading and class trips to Philadelphia and New York.
I remember the end-of-the-year school picnics and the athletic banquets and the Christmas plays and the talent shows.
I remember pep rallies, cheerleading competitions, basketball games at the CYO, soccer games, the annual Flower Sale. I remember ironing gray pants and trying to get stains out of the yellow uniform shirts.
It saddens me that Ewing will be without the gem that was Incarnation School. I shudder to think of those gleaming hallways empty, no one in line to get a drink from the water fountains, no one raising the flag or calling the buses at dismissal.
I am one of the lucky ones. I got to grow up in that school. I got to learn what it’s like to go to school in a place where I was truly nurtured and cherished.
So it is with sadness that I bid farewell to Incarnation School. But no matter what, I will always be an Incarnation Catholic School girl, although I don’t roll up my skirts anymore.
