year, I made three or four sweaters. Of course, at the age of 13, I needed a lot of guidance from her—practically stitch-by-stitch, line-by-line instructions, especially when it came to the sleeves and collar parts. So you can imagine what joy and pride I felt when at the end of February, my sweaters were displayed during the annual home economics (HE, now called practical arts class) exhibit of each class. Sister Robrecht always had a special room for the mission projects. Exhibited were the map of the Cordillera with the mission schools properly marked, the photos of the Sisters at work, handicrafts made by other
To some of my classmates, she was strict
and stern—it must be because she would
never lean back on her chair to slouch or relax; she was always sitting straight up, part of her disciplined and self-sacrificing life, I guess.
students for the missions, and my sweaters! I was more proud of those sweaters than I was of my HE projects—crocheted doilies, cross-stitched samplers, paintings of flowers in our arts class, clay bells and vases in our pottery class. I remember well the blouse and skirt displayed with my name below them. We were supposed to be learning how to use the sewing machine. Under my hands the needle kept reversing instead of going forward (no electric sewing machine in our school then). I was so scared I would not meet the deadline that my mother had to come to the rescue. We stayed up till midnight ripping and repairing, and my mother practically finishing it up to be submitted the next day. Hand-knitting I was good at, but not the sewing machine!
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