THE FLYING NUN

When my very first boss with the Michigan Department of Corrections asked if I’d like a classroom volunteer, I hesitated answering. “I’m sure she could help the guys with their writing skills,” she said.

I had heard horror stories about volunteers gaining access to the inside of a prison so they could perform extra-curricular activities during those rare unsupervised moments. “I’m not sure it’s worth the headache,” I responded.

For some reason though, my boss sounded enthusiastic about it. She proceeded to tell me that the woman was a nun and a former writer for “The Flying Nun” television series.

I had visions of a young, spunky Sally Fields soaring through the air during the opening credits, but as far as a story line, nothing seemed to surface. Still, a former writer for television volunteering in my classroom?-- seemed too good to be true. I changed my mind, “Sure, why not.”

On the first day in my class she sat among the inmates, freely dispensing sound advice on their essays while I worked with a few guys at the chalkboard. My classroom has never been a quiet place to study; instead, everyone interacts while doing their work. “Books are dead,” I’d often say. “But the people in here are not. Discuss your assignments in small groups. You’ll learn the material better that way.”

I knew something had definitely gone wrong when the noise level dropped off. When I turned around to face my new volunteer, she was sitting all alone at a student desk. The inmates she was helping had moved as far away as possible. She had fallen asleep. I approached her, tapped lightly on the desk, and asked if she’d like a cup of coffee. She in turn became annoyed, as if I disturbed her from a peaceful moment of tranquility.

After two days, I told my boss that I no longer needed her services. My boss looked at me incredulously. “I think she has narcolepsy,” I explained. That was my first and last volunteer.