Handbook for an Unpredictable Life: How I Survived Sister Renata and My Crazy Mother, and Still Came Out Smiling (with Great Hair) Read Online Free PDF Page A

deafening.
    “Hi, Amelia!” waved Cindy to an older girl.
    The girl paid her no mind.
    “That’s Amelia,” Cindy remarked as she turned back to me. “She’s my friend; she’s in Group One. You have to be five to be in Group One. Groups Two and Three are for the big girls. You can’t go yet, ’cause you’re only three. That’s why you’re in Baby Girls, like me.”
    A really old nun, dressed with a bigger, longer, and more ridiculous black scarf on her head, stood in front of all of us, flanked by two other nuns, almost as old as she was. She clapped her hands three times, and all the girls stood up and began to sing:
    Oh, the Lord is good to me. And so I thank the Lord. For giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple trees. The Lord is good to me. I thank the Lord!
    At the end part (“I thank the Lord!”), everyone clapped four times on each of the last words. Then they all sat.
    The head nun began another prayer as everyone followed along with their heads bowed and hands pressed together in prayer.
    Dear Lord Jesus. Please bless this food we are about to receive and make it nutritious to our bodies, in your precious name. We thank you Lord. Amen
.
    Wow. They pray a lot here. I don’t recall if we prayed at Tia’s, but it probably wasn’t as much as they did here.
    Everyone dug in, and the loud-ass chatter began again. The food looked foreign and bland. The vegetables were overcooked, and the fish smelled funny. Where were the rice and beans?
    “You’re not gonna eat your food?” asked Cindy.
    I shook my head no.
    “Can I eat it?” she asked. “If you don’t eat it, you’re gonna get in trouble.… Can I eat it?”
    “Leave her alone, Cindy. Let her eat her food,” said this chubby, reddish-olive-skinned Spanish girl with big hazel eyes.
    I looked up at her.
    “That’s Puerto Rican—Jew Evita Feinstein. She’s in Group One.”
    “Shut up, Crazy Cindy Berrios.”
    They both cracked up.
    “What’s your name?” asked Puerto Rican—Jew Evita Feinstein.
    “Wosie.”
    “The nuns call her Rosemary,” replied Crazy Cindy.
    “They do that shit to everybody,” Evita chimed in. “Except me, ’cause I’m a half-Jew.”
    Again laughter, from both of them.
    I couldn’t believe Puerto Rican–Jew Evita Feinstein was Jewish. Well, half Jewish. She looked like us, and she didn’t wear those funny dresses with the dark stockings. And she cursed! Jewish girls never cursed, even if they were only half. Only the Italians, Polish, Irish, and Puerto Ricans cursed, like my cousins—not in front of Tia, of course. A slight smile emerged from the corner of my mouth. I liked these cuckoo girls. Still, I couldn’t eat.
    Afterward, we went back to the Baby Girls’ dormitory, and the young ladies who dressed in street clothes were there. These were our counselors, and each girls’ dormitory was assigned two. One of them showed me how to fold my clothes and put them in the bin assigned to me. We went back into the playroom, and she showed me around—the toy box, the bookshelf, and the play table. I grabbed one of the books.
    “
Puedale lee este a mi, por favor
[Can you read this one to me, please]?” I asked one of the ladies.
    “We do not speak Spanish here. We speak English, okay?”
    “Why?”
    “Because those are the rules, and we are here to teach you and help you.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you’re one of God’s children …”
    What the hell did that mean? God isn’t bilingual?
    “I’ll ask Sister Mary-Domenica if she will read it during reading time tonight. Let me show you the courtyard where you can run and play,” she answered.
    “No, thank you,” I replied. “I want to read the book, please.”
    “I’m sorry. It’s time to go outside,” she stated firmly. “Let’s go.”
    “Can I take my book,
por favor
?” I pleaded politely.
    She paused, trying to hold back a smile, and then said, “Sure.”
    I excitedly opened it.
    “Ooh!
Lookit!
She has the