One of those memories was triggered last week when my mom informed me that a teacher I had in grade school had passed away.
This teacher was not one of my favorites. In fact, she scared me. I came to find out, during my experience with her, that she was a sweet and caring woman, but first impressions were big for this shy seventh grade girl. All I saw was a stern, southern woman, and I wanted to keep on her good side.
Let's travel back in time to the year 1987. I was attending a small catholic school in downtown McKeesport. There was a partnership with a nearby public school and during 7th and 8th grade my classmates and I were able to participate in the "shop" classes they offered alongside their students. The classes included wood working, computers, sewing and cooking.
It was a great opportunity to get out of our school for part of the day but there was a catch. We were dressed in our Catholic school uniforms and when we showed up at the public school - we had nowhere to hide. Yes, there was daily ribbing about our attire but we got used to it after a while.
I have fond memories of making chocolate ice cream in cooking class, furnishing a napkin holder in wood shop, and managing a hot dog stand in computer class. I have not so fond memories of learning how to thread the bobbin in sewing class.
The classroom had rows of sewing machines for each student to sit at like a desk. My Catholic school classmate and I sat way in the back to kind of slide under the radar. We really didn't know anyone and we basically kept to ourselves. Our project in this class was an animal pillow and I was making a monkey. But first...we had to learn to use the machine.
Mrs. Elizabeth Carrozza probably demonstrated how to thread the bobbin (the little silver round metal piece that helps feed thread to the needle) numerous times but sitting in the back of the room didn't improve our vantage point. After the demonstrations she went to each student's machine to see if they did it right.
Most students in the class had previous experience with the ways of Mrs. Carrozza. She ran a tight ship and kids knew not to mess around. I wasn't messing around but I could not do the task at hand. I was desperate. I was scared. I wanted to disappear. I feared the wrath of this loud, tall southern lady.
Even my friend, my classmate couldn't help me because she was working on her own machine. I begged and pleaded with her but time was running out. Mrs. Carrozza was getting closer and closer to our row. Of course, my friend's bobbin was perfect. Then - there was mine. I almost fainted.
Maybe it had been a long day. Maybe she wasn't feeling well. Maybe this was the one millionth time she had taught this lesson and was over it - but I got an earful. I was already embarrassed because of my uniform but then I was called out for not paying attention and basically being a disgrace to sewers everywhere. (I probably embellished that last part.) My eyes were brimming with tears but I would not dare cry. Not one tear was shed until my foot stepped out of her classroom. And then - the flood.
It just so happened as I was leaving the public school, with my classmates to board our bus, my dad was driving by in his work truck. He reported to and from a building that was nearby and pulled over to say hello. Imagine his surprise when he saw his daughter, covered in tears, thinking something terrible had just happened.
I choked through my tears to explain how the mean lady yelled at me - bobbin, monkey, embarrassed - and then I had to get on my bus. I'm sure dad said we would talk about it later while he held me in his arms. Little did I know, when my bus pulled away, dad was going to have his own little chat with the sewing lady.
I don't know how the conversation went down. I like to imagine my dad angrily walking through the school building on a hunt, peeking into each classroom searching for the one, the one who had made his baby cry. Yelling "Carrozza! Come out, come out wherever you are!"
But in reality, I am guessing my dad was won over by her southern charm, which I personally didn't see until the day after bobbin-gate. I think he explained how painfully shy I was, at the time, and possibly asked for a little more patience. She didn't know me from Adam - just another Catholic school student that was bused in for an hour each day. But now she had some background information on this plaid claid, quiet kid. My dad probably said, "This girl can do this but she may just need a little extra help."
I did get the help I needed from Mrs. Carrozza to finish my monkey pillow and it turned out ok. I was not a young Martha Stewart by any means but I was proud of the end result. I kept that pillow on my bed for many years and I am sure I have it tucked away somewhere - a treasured souvenir from my youth.
Mrs. Carrozza was 92 when she passed away. She was only a few years away from retirement when I was in her sewing class. I am sure teaching in a public middle school for 24 years, made it necessary to have a tough exterior, but I am glad I got to see her softer side.
I never look at a sewing machine without thinking of her and the bobbin story, while not funny at the time, it is now a heartwarming tale of a parent trying to make things right for their kid and a teacher making things right for a student.
Now that I have a little more time on my hands, maybe I should dust my sewing machine off and make a new animal pillow. Maybe this time, I'll make the cat.
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| A late 80s latch hook Snoopy and his doghouse I made in Mrs. Carrozza's class. |
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