Then suddenly she said, “I want this class to remember—I only give A’s to those who truly deserve it.” A silence fell on the class. Was it fear? It felt very similar to fear. Sister Mary Aquinata, who later we called only “Sister Aquinata,” put the fear of God into us. We were initially all scared of her. Definitely, my fourth year in high school began grounded in uncertainty. Two weeks into the school year she called me, “Can-sep-si- own.” My full name is Concepcion Barbara, after my maternal grandmother, whose birthday was on the feast of Saint Barbara on December 4, before the Catholic Church determined that Barbara was not a saint but a mere myth. When my mother was sending me to Switzerland to study, my French teacher was shocked to hear my first name. “That brings sex to mind,” she warned my mother. “Have her passport issued in her second name. ‘Barbara’ is so much more acceptable.”
“Where are you going for college?
I’ll bet you’re going to commit
mortal sin and go to UP.”
Anyway, Sister Aquinata called me and said that Sister Rose Anthony, my class adviser the previous year, had told her that I was the most responsible girl in class. That sort of surprised me because I didn’t think Sister Rose Anthony thought anything of me. “So I am asking you to organize the class acquaintance party.” I gave her a questioning look. “Yes, you, go, go on and organize it. Appoint your committee and do it.” I did. We had a party. It was successful and from then on Sister Aquinata and I became the best of friends. First grading period, I got A minus in both her subjects. Forget about the minus, they were
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