12: Keys to the Kingdom

I first walked the hallowed halls of Chaminade High School on a tour while I was still in the eighth grade. I wasn't sure where I wanted to go to high school at that point, only that Catholic school seemed a certainty. I remember the day I received my acceptance letter to Chaminade though, as the prestigious high school was at the very top of my list, not least of all because my closest friends from grade school were already committed to going there.

As I discussed in a previous blog, my time as a student at Chaminade was sadly short-lived, as I failed out at the end of my very first year there (failing is anything below 75, so a 73, a 74, and a Fail in my Pass/Fail music course sealed my fate). Though they allowed me to take two summer school courses at the school that summer, I eventually had to say goodbye to the place forever–or so I thought.

Just three years later, now a graduate of Kellenberg High School in Uniondale (run by the same religious order), I was back again, only this time not only living at the same school I'd failed out of, but planning to teach there one day too.

It all felt as incredibly weird as it sounds, and yet I never felt like an imposter or a trespasser in any way. Instead, the experience was beautiful, really, as if God had personally taken me by the hand to offer me an amazing second chance at something special.

One of the very first items I received as a Young Brother was a master key to the entire school building, giving me access to every classroom on the extra-large campus, as well as the gymnasium, the exercise room, the bookstore, and the auditorium. Once again, the truth was surreal. I'd gone from being told I could no longer take classes there to being presented with an all-access key to the building.

I distinctly remember one day early on when this special key and I took a very special walk together.

Where in the whole school do you think I wanted to visit most of all, once I had access? Well, though I could've gone pretty much anywhere, I really wanted to visit the one place I started my day back when I was a student at Chaminade High School as a 14-year-old. I wanted to spend some time alone in my old homeroom in Powers Hall.

We were the 1A Aces, and as you can see below, I still own and treasure the t-shirt I received that year (now over 30 years ago). My homeroom teacher was Brother Thomas Cleary, who is currently the president of the high school, and when I first visited the community while still a senior at Kellenberg, I instantly remembered Tom's cologne from three years earlier. He was a great source of wise, loving counsel throughout my time as a monk, and he personally taught me so much about human nature and adaptability once I joined the kitchen staff. More on that later on!

Unlocking the door of my old homeroom on that quiet Sunday afternoon my first year in the community, I looked around the modern classroom with a sense of supreme gratitude. I saw my old desk, or at least the approximate place in the room my desk was while I was a student there, and I sat down in it to remember. I then stood behind the teacher's podium too, appreciating how surreal life can be, already musing on the stories I'd one day tell my students.

"There was a boy who went to this school years ago," I'd start. "A good kid, sweet and kind too, but he struggled so much with his grades. He struggled so much, in fact, he failed out of the school after his freshman year here." I'd pause and look around the room, maybe add a little shake of the head to show how sad I was, disappointed even. But then I'd continue. "He went on to figure things out over at our sister school in Uniondale, Kellenberg Memorial. And then, once a few more years passed and he got his act together, he started teaching. Here. At Chaminade." One more pause and then, "You're looking at him, boys. I failed out of this school, but I worked my butt off and proved myself over time. So don't let that happen to you. Work hard now, and give this school your very best. I believe in you."

I only stepped into that classroom one more time a couple years later, just to remind myself of the incredible road I was traveling on as a human being. I knew I couldn't possibly forget it, but neither did I ever want to stop honoring my transformative journey and experience.

I was a student there, and then I wasn't. I was a Brother there, and then I wasn't. Maybe some day, once again without any hope or expectation, I'll step foot in that building again. God only knows.

I'll tell you what, though. If you asked 15-year-old me the summer after I failed out of Chaminade High School whether I'd ever see the inside of the school again, I'd have wiped away my tears and silently shook my head no. If you asked 22-year-old me the same question on July 19, 1997, the day I was told to leave the monastic life, I'd have wiped away new tears and once again shook my head no.

Yet somehow, for absolutely no reason at all? If you asked 44-year-old me the same question today? I'd smile and shrug casually. At this point in my life, you see, I've learned absolutely anything is possible. Even reconciliation.


Coming Next Week: Aliens in a Strange Land