"Joseph, what are you reading?" The sound of her voice cut through the silence like finger nails scrapping across the blackboard. That voice, that whiney nasally thing that immature grown women did when they were trying to sound like little girls, sent my brain into a fetal position every time I heard it.

"I hate you and I'm going to kill you" is what I wanted to say. Instead, I told her the truth. "It's a magazine."

"Bring it up here Joseph". I always hated that she called me Joseph, but since it was a catholic school and she was a nun, the biblical version of my name must have seemed more appropriate. I knew I was busted. I had paid fifty cents, a whole week's allowance, for the latest version of Mad Magazine, didn't even get to read it all, and now I was probably going to loose it. Why did I bring it to school, what was I thinking?

Sister Mary Catherine showed no emotion as she skimmed through the pages for several minutes. The whole class was just as quiet as we all awaited her verdict on the magazine. I was half way expecting her to laugh out loud at least once because there was some pretty funny material in there. But no way. Finally, the verdict came, and it was no surprise. "This is communist propaganda!" she exclaimed as she slammed the magazine down on her desk, "And you kids are not allowed to ever read this stuff. Do you understand?" Nuns liked to tell us what we could and couldn't do at home.

"Yes sister, sorry sister" the class said in perfect unison, a skill we had developed over months of repeating the mantra dozens of times a day.

"Communist propaganda?" I thought to myself. And they wondered why kids never took them serious about anything. Ever since I had started catholic school three years earlier in the sixth grade, I had been grilled about how communism, the most evil force on earth, was to blame for every ill of our society. Even Satan was not as evil as communism. I had never heard much about communism in public school, but the Catholics, they really hated communism! Anything anybody said that was not in line with Catholic thinking was communist propaganda.

*Side note....Isn't it interesting that the nuns, who lived a total communal type life stlye and shared everything equally, hated communism so much?

Surprisingly, Sister Mary Catherine didn't punish me for bringing a Mad Magazine to school, she just threw it in the trash can, which was punishment enough. I would of rather suffered one of her classic sadistic tortures and been able to keep my magazine. But the day was young and I rarely got through a day without some kind of torture.

It was mid morning as the class settled back into their quiet study time. Sister Mary Catherine was busy grading papers and I was busy fuming. In fact, I was down right pissed! I had to do something, she had to pay. I quietly lifted my desk top a couple of inches and reached my hand inside. Fumbling around I found a large thick rubber band. This was perfect, especially for the fact that I was an expert marksman when it came to shooting rubber bands. My little sister "Sis", who's seventh grade class shared the same class room with our eighth grade class, had been watching me the whole time. She knew me well. As I raised my arms and took aim, I realized that by now the whole class room was watching me, wondering if I had the nerve. I could hear their silent chants egging me on as I let it rip.

When the rubber band hit the nun upside her head she jumped up out of her chair. "Who did that?" she screamed as she scanned the room looking for that guilty smirk, that uncontrollable smirk that always got you busted. But I did not smirk. I had complete control over the smirk. In fact, I sat there looking shocked that anybody would do such a thing to a nun!

To my surprise, the whole class was quiet. Nobody ratted me in spite of the nun telling the class that if they knew who did it and did not tell her, it would be a sin! Like communism, sin was a concept that had little effect on us seventh and eight graders. The Catholic powers that be had over used the threat of sin ever since first grade catechism and by seventh and eighth grade, sin no longer frightened us. Besides, there was always Saturday night confession....a few prayers and poof, sin gone. Soon the nun gave up grilling the class and went back to quietly grading her papers.

I should have known what was about to happen next. After twelve years of psychic warfare and every kind of physical and emotional antagonism one can imagine that goes on between a brother and a little sister who was only a year and a half younger, I should have seen it coming. From across the room I watched Sis slowly stand up as she starred back at me with that grin, that all too familiar grin that said "your ass is grass!" She smiled deviously at me the whole time as she walked up to the nuns desk and whispered something in her ear.

From her sitting position Sister Mary Catherine lifted her head up and quietly locked her gaze onto me like a sniper that was about to make a kill. "Joseph Shaw, you will apologize to me right now" she said without a trace of the nasally whine that you usually heard in her voice.

"You give me my magazine back, and I'll apologize" I heard myself saying, almost to my own surprise.

"That magazine is communist propaganda, you will not get it back, you will apologize to me right now, and then you will apologize for not apologizing right away!"

I stood up and quietly starred back at her. I had nothing else to say. Sis must have been in "kick my brothers ass" Heaven as the silent battle of wills ensued. After a few minutes of neither of us saying a word and the whole class watching in total disbelief of the unprecedented events unfolding before them, Sister Mary Catherine ordered me to come up to the front of the class. Torture time. "Get down on your knees and face the class" she ordered as I wondered what creative method she would conjure up to try to break my will. I complied because I wanted to beat her at her own game.

The concrete floor was hard and cold, but not too bad for the rubbery body of a thirteen year old, at least not for the first couple of hours. "You will stay right there until you apologize to me. Class, get back to studying" she said as she sat down and went back to her paper work.

She spent the whole lunch hour in there with me to make sure I didn't get up or try to sit down. As the afternoon slowly dragged on, the pain became worse by the minute. But pain was no match for my stubborn pride and self righteousness. I was relieved when the bell rang at three o'clock. Finally, I could get off my sore knees. "Joseph, are you ready to apologize?" she said as the class anxiously looked at me to see if I had been broken yet.

"No sister, I'm am not ready to apologize."

"The girls can all leave but the boys will stay here until Joseph decides to apologize." She must have been enjoying the whole ordeal on some level because of how much I was suffering, but on another level, she had to know I was beating her. By now, what had started out as a simple punishment, had gone to a whole new level. The more I hurt, the more determined I was to beat this woman. As far as I was concerned, it was all out war.

She followed the girls out of the class room and stayed outside for about five minutes. Was it to give me a break? Maybe a chance to rest my swollen knees? Hell no, she wanted to give the boys a chance to talk me into submission. Nobody wanted to stay after school, and she knew it. I was surprised when she left and all of the guys started encouraging me. "Stay with it Joe, we'll stay here as long as you want to" was the over all consensus as each guy took turns telling me how he felt. Not one of them asked me to apologize!

"Do you have anything to say to me Joseph?" she asked as she came back in and sat down at her desk.

"No Sister" was all I had to say.

About 3:20, the inevitable happened, the one factor that I subconsciously knew would happen but must have blocked it out of my conscious mind. My Mother came in. She had come to pick up me and my sister and obviously got the story from Sis as to what was happening. She came into the class room, walked right up to where I was kneeling, grabbed me by the ear, stood me up and marched me over to Sister Mary Catherine's desk. "You will apologize right now", she said in no uncertain terms.

Now there are forces in the universe that can strike fear into the hearts of the greatest of warriors and the best of good men. There are obstacles that can stop the strongest of wills. There are earth shaking events that can bring a mighty army to it's knees. And then there are Mother's. Some things you just don't mess with.

"I'm sorry Sister" I blurted out as my pride and anger gave way to that maternal power, the greatest dominance in the universe, a power that had me by the ear lobe and manipulated me as easy as if she were swinging a teddy bear around by the head. Game over.

She still clung tightly to my sore ear lobe as we headed out the door and on to the car where I knew I would be met by a smirking twelve year old sister, a sister who's ass I was going to kick as soon as I had the opportunity, although I don't know why I would even bother, she always beat me in the end anyway.

Although this happened forty seven years ago, to this day, I still cannot kneel on a hard surface. And although it was a painful experience, at least I came away with my own personal war story. I can't say that I blame the nun as much as I blame the stubborn nature of my youth. I have always said that every painful experience in life offers us a lesson of some kind, or at least an opportunity to loosen another notch on our maturity belt. What did I learn from this experience all those years ago? A lot. Never take your Mad Magazine to Catholic school, never trust a little sister, especially one who you have thrown a live frog on, and if your going to challenge a nun of all people, at least wear pants with padded knees!