A Case of the Croydon Crazies

"I live in my own little world, 

but that's okay, they know me here."

- Lauren Myracle

     I can walk around my little town and wave to every person on their front porch or their front lawn and they might not know my name, but they know my face. I have to leave my town to visit any store larger than the corner store or CVS and you know you can't go shopping there. We have three stoplights, yep, just three and a ton of disobeyed stop signs. I could walk to church, but most morning I prefer to drive (especially with this rain) just to feel the wind in my hair. I may have been blessed enough to travel to many foreign countries, learn many new languages, and meet tons of new people, but nothing beats coming home to this small town. Nope, nothing at all. Because this is where I come from, this is the place that built me, this is home. 

    Good old Croydon. You know, we used to have a busted up sign at the end of Cedar Avenue that said, "Welcome to Croydon." For a while it didn't exist but it came back full force. We were known for a few things back in the day. One of them being: Croydon, the location of the most dangerous intersection along Route 13. Another was being known for the city with the most bars on route 13. Finally, one of my personal favorites is being known as the armpit of Bucks County. Now, I'm sure it used to be what the other cool cat cities in Bucks County used to call us because they wanted to belittle us, but let's be honest, I know it's because they were just jealous (and still are). After 21 years of living here, I can say not much has changed. There's still a good amount of bars here, that intersection, while it has had a bit of reconstruction, is still dangerous and people still refer to us as the armpit of Bucks County, but only in retelling tales of their childhood. To be honest, I'm glad Croydon hasn't changed much.

     For a long time, I was so used to people having no idea where Croydon was, or that it even existed. Whenever people would ask where I was from, I was say: Croydon, right outside of Philadelphia. Then I went to Immaculata. The year before I was born, so 22 years ago, the IHMs left our little church and school. However, it still remains a fresh memory in some sisters' minds. Before I could even get out the "right outside of Philadelphia" part, the sisters would be telling me all about how there used to be an IHM Mission there or about how many years sister spent there. This happened in Peru with one dear sister. She immediately told me that she was from my neighbor city, Bensalem. She began telling me story after story about the Crazy Kids from Croydon. I could only laugh....one more thing we were known for. 

     I remember afternoons sitting on Mr. Frat's front lawn only a few years back and listening to stories about how everyone from neighboring cities knew not to miss with the kids from Croydon. I've heard the stories of fights that didn't happen because a Croydon kid stepped in and no one wanted a piece of that. The Sisters who had been stationed at STA back in the day told me that they loved the Croydon kids (and I mean really, who wouldn't) but that they were tough kids. If I hadn't heard Mr. Frat's stories, I never would have believed it. But I guess that's because our toughness came out in a different way when I was a kid. 

     I once had a conversation with one of the sisters at school about where I was from. I had gotten some bad news that particular day and I handled it the only way I knew how, by toughing it up. Of course, I'm a sensitive gal and so toughing it up meant not talking about it. She was worried about me and so she sat me down in her office to chat. I barely said anything for a while, so she did a lot of the talking. But then finally it all came out. Suddenly, in the middle of my story, she asked me where I was from. When I said Croydon, said sighed and said, "Well now it all makes sense." I had appeared as a mystery to many people on campus, especially the sisters. I was a happy go lucky girl who had a Philadelphian accent with a touch of Southern twang (and when I get really mad (which is rare) or really hype about something, you can count on it coming out full force). I smiled at everyone, waved and said hello. I was gentle, but I was also tough. I didn't let things bother me, I shrugged it off. I often spoke my mind in classes and was open about my beliefs. I wore my heart on my sleeve and yet, it was protected by an electric force. None of this about me makes sense unless you know where I am from: Croydon.

     Someone called me the sweetest no nonsense girl she had ever met. What more do you want from me? I'm from Croydon. We do things small here but we do them right. We don't play games, we keep it real. In church on Sunday morning, there's no such thing as quiet. No, from the next block over you can hear the laughter of the brother knights of Columbus or the joyous shouts from all the kids. We don't do the handshake thing here, either, we hug and kiss and say I love you. We are so interconnected that outside people often mistake all the little ones for my little sisters and brothers or all the knights or ladies from the Ladies Auxiliary as my parents. As you've read before, no one really sits with only their immediate family here in church, no we sit with everyone. We love each other, we look out for each other, we have each others' backs. My city, my church, my Croydon family has made me this sweet girl who loves Jesus and America, too.

     We are all products of where we live and who raised us. The saying it takes a village to raise a child certainly applies to me and any Croydon kid. We may have been called the armpit of Bucks County and maybe we don't always have the best of reputations, but I grew up to love this place because it made me who I am. I'm the sweetest no nonsense girl you could ever meet. I love you upon first meeting you, I will love you til the end. But remember, no nonsense. I do have a little tough girl in me somewhere. Sister told me not to be ashamed of where I was from...I never was. She said, whatever you do, don't knock where you're from because that's what made you the great person you are today. I could never knock Croydon because I love this hidden gem of a small town we have going on here. I love that right between Bucks County Ritz and Philly City Streets lies this little gem called Croydon, where everyone knows your name. Truth is, I can't thank God enough for the small town and the people in it, I call family. You done a good job raising me, folks! Maybe I'm just feeling the pride on this good ol' Fourth of July or maybe I just have a perpetual case of the Croydon Crazies. 

What Color Is Red?

"I can't remember my exact reactions. I know they were varied - 

a mixture of surprise, disappointment, awe over horror, 

but also contentment - resignation and even joy."

- Sister Mary Avellino, IHM

     "What color is red?" or in Spanish, "Que color es rojo?" was a phrase that essentially summed up our trip to Peru. Whether we were red with embarrassment, red with laughter, or red with sunburn, our white, American faces were almost always red and Sister Marie never let us forget. She would always ask sarcastically, "What color is red?" and we would all laugh. Even driving to the airport on Thursday night we were still repeating the phrase over and over with every new adventure in the car. However, the final time we asked the question, it was serious. What color is red? We all said together and I answered, "Red is the color of our eyes and cheeks after we have been crying so hard and so long." And that was the truth. 

     After finally checking in for our flight and checking our bag, we joined the sisters for some last Quatro Day (that is, 4D ice cream...the best) in the airport before heading into security. Eight of us sat around one tiny, little, round table and laughed our last laughs together and took our last pictures. My heart was melancholy and yet, rejoicing in the goodness of God. Finally, it was time to go through security ... and time to say our final goodbyes to the sisters at the gate. One by one we each hugged each other and my eyes, the eyes that never, ever cry in public, began to water. There was no escaping it, no avoiding it, not forgetting to cry. No, with each hug, my face got wetter and wetter. And there was no embarrassment. I just cried, because it was like a band-aid: my heart had been operated on, fixed and made for the better. The sisters put band-aid on to help it heal and now, I was able to go home with a brand new and transformed heart. But, I couldn't leave the band-aid on. So, as my big Sisters, the ripped it off and smiled and as they saw how my heart had grown. Gee wiz. Thanks, that hurt. But I knew, I had been changed for the better. And the saying goodbye was just the ripping off of a bandaid. It stung for a while, but now, I can smile and say, I'm glad they changed me.

    Our last week in Peru was a hard one. I realized this while on the bus Monday morning: Grief is so hard when you have to live for the moment even though it is inevitable that something painful will happen soon. For me it was the hardship of having to walk into my classrooms with a HUGE smile on my face despite the fact that I knew in a few days I would be leaving and my heart was already so sad. But, I have had practice hiding my feelings, so for two days, I went in and out of the classrooms smiling and loving each moment. At night, or on the bus when I was able to really think and reflect, I would feel the inevitable pain of knowing I had to leave soon. I am, as I view myself, a person who lives in the moment and so, with each and every moment I was given, I lived it up. 

     During the last two days, all of our students were gradually saying goodbye. Out of the four of us, I was the only one in the secondary grades, that is high school level, as per my major! While it was hard for the others to leave, I am sure, their students were not as upset as mine...so it seemed. For little kids, they are sad for the moment, and then they keep going on with life. While yes they miss those they have met, their comprehension of what would be happening in a few days was little. For my students, they knew what was happening and their hearts were pained by the experience. Each grade had planned some sort of goodbye for me, whether it was a giant card, a song, a speech or a party, each said goodbye in their own way...making it easier and harder for all of us. They had given me the opportunity to have closure and yet, made those last moments more unforgettable than all the rest. 

     Each of the little speeches told me how important I had become in their lives. Some had even gone as far as to say that I was not just a mentor or a teacher for them but a friend. I was almost in tears every time. Some were even wise enough to say that goodbyes hurt more when you do not know when the next time is that you will see each other and isn't that the truth. When it was finally my turn to thank them, from the bottom of my heart I told them that there was no way I could eve forget those days I spent at CSA in Callou. I told them how much they had changed my life by their simply living each day to the full with me both in the classroom and out. I told them how blessed I was to have had the experience of having students and friends. But the most important thing I told them, for me and for them, was that they had become more than students and more than friends; they had become my little sisters.

     Thursday, the day we were leaving, was of course, the hardest. It was the feast of San Antonio, the patron of their school. So, of course, they had an assembly, and a special day. The day before they had adoration all day which I was so blessed to spend some time at. The assembly was fantastic but what was even better was the free time (or not so free time....pretty sure my girls were all skipping class) we had afterward to simply say our goodbyes. While I absolutely loved every moment in the classroom, I loved being able to just hang out with the chicas. We took tons of pictures, had lots of laughs and told even more stories. In fact, we even found a name for ourselves: the Quiet Llama Chicas. Yeah, we are that cute. We spent time just sitting on the floor of the classroom, eating causa and loving life. I wouldn't have spent my last moments with them any other way. Saying goodbye was so hard. 

      We found ourselves back at EIC soon enough and eating on last lunch with the sisters in our house. After lunch, the girls went upstairs to finish packing, but I had some other things to do first. First of all, I had to meet Cesar, the infamous fourth grader at the school and second, I had to go visit Sister Eileen. On my first day in EIC I found myself in her office, so it was only right to go there on my last day. I had wanted to simply give her the "nun mail" from CSA and have a little chat, but God had something else in store. Yes, in fact, He blessed me with one of the most beautiful conversations I have ever had. Sister Eileen, I then understood, had read me like an open book. Amid our tears, she told me how grateful she was for our being there in their convent, the new life we brought to them and all about the ups and downs of religious life. I never cry openly in front of people unless I have known them for a very extensive amount of time, yet there I was bawling my eyes out with this woman of God who so honestly loves Jesus and the work He has asked of her. I was in awe of her, from the very moment I met her (she drove a mean stick shift), at that moment and even now as I think about it. It was certainly a moment in my life I could never, ever forget. And if she ever gets around to reading this, I hope she knows how much I appreciate the color red in our eyes and on our cheeks! 

     I did meet Cesar after that and then quickly headed off to finish some last minute things, like packing and writing. Before we knew it, we were all smushed in a car, just the way we arrived, headed to the airport where we then checked in and had our ice cream and tears. As I sat on the airplane, I looked out my window honestly and cried. I cried because I knew in my heart I had been so blessed. I had been blessed with so many angels and like my girls had said so truthfully, the hardest part about all of these goodbyes was not knowing when I will ever see them again. Leaving everyone was so hard, but I know that because I knew them, I had been changed for good. I can't thank God enough and I can't wait to go back again! Here's to the tears and the laughter that will once again ensue when American me steps foot on Peruvian soil!