A Children's Book Called Sister Anne's Hands

“Roses are red, violets are blue. Don’t let Sister Anne get any black on you.”

Decades later, I can still remember that line. It comes from the children’s book Sister Anne’s Hands, written by Marybeth Lorbiecki and beautifully illustrated by K. Wendy Popp. My mother would always read to me when I was little and this book was one of her favorites. I didn’t have an epiphany at six years old when it was first read to me. And as an adult, I didn’t have an epiphany either when I re-read it to write this piece. It is hard to say that this book “changed me.” Rather, I would call this story a stepping-stone on the path that I try and walk today, its poignant message carried well past the age of reader the pages are targeted towards.

Sister Anne’s Hands is set at a Catholic school during the 1960s. A young girl starts another school year with a new teacher, a black nun named Sister Anne. All seems fine until a nasty note is passed up to the teacher’s desk. It is on this piece of paper that a racist twist on the “Roses are red” rhyme is scrawled. The next day, Sister Anne plasters the walls of the classroom with images of black people being lynched, segregated water fountains, and signs bearing messages like “Whites Only” and “Go Back to Africa.” She teaches her students about racism and discrimination, telling them how ugly hatred is. Sister Anne only lasts a year at that school before her order transfers her to a different city. The story leaves the young girl taking an artistic approach to the teachings of Sister Anne. She draws hands, illustrating them with various patterns and coloring them with all hues of the rainbow.

I remember asking my mother “Why?” when she read this book to me. “Why would people care about the color of someone else’s skin?” “Why could black people and white people not use the same water fountain?” “Why did those pictures have crosses burning and people hanging from trees?” I did not understand.

Just like the young girl in the book, I too went to a Catholic school, but I had classmates who did not look like me. We shared the same playground equipment and sat together at lunch. I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago; my hometown was majority white. However, there were plenty of people that lived in the neighboring houses that were not. Their kids rode around the block on bikes, same as me. When I went shopping at the grocery store with my mother, I saw all sorts of people; we used the same carts and stood in the same checkout lines. I thought nothing of it.

And just like the young girl in the book, I had never realized that some people judged others on factors that had no bearing on the quality of a person’s character. Sometimes, people were judged based on the color of their skin, the language they spoke, or the religion they practiced. Just as Sister Anne tried to explain this to her students, my mother tried to explain it to me. But as a little kid, I did not understand. No one discriminated against me for those things, so why would some people do it to others?

As I got older, I realized that not facing discrimination or racism was a luxury that not everyone else had. I also came to realize that I would never really “get it,” as it was highly unlikely that I would experience these things going forward. As an adult, I understand that I will never truly understand.

Years later, I went to public high school and then to a liberal college. I went on to graduate school and eventually ended up working in the healthcare field. In that time, I have seen quite the gamut of humanity. In my profession, I work with and serve people that are vastly different from myself: diverse races, ethnicities, religions, and sexual orientations. I aim to treat them how I want them to treat me. When I talk to them and get to know them as people, I listen to what they tell me. When they describe their life experiences, I show empathy. I might not be able to relate, but I make an attempt to understand, to the best of my abilities, the things that they have gone through that I have not.

After Sister Anne showed her students the pictures of hatred, she told them this. “One thing you’re going to learn is that some folks have their hearts wide open, and others are tight as a fist.” She continued. “For me, I’d rather open my door enough to let everyone in than risk slamming it shut on God’s big toe.” Sister Anne goes on to teach reading, writing, and counting. She sings with her students and takes them to the library to explore the world through books. They learn how to paint and garden and hear about people like Sojourner Truth and Dr. Martin Luther King.

That is the greatest lesson that this book teaches. It is of the utmost importance to make every attempt to keep one’s heart and mind open. I am not perfect, no one is. Hatred sets traps for us to falter and fall into. When we find ourselves slipping towards a stereotype or straying towards a pre-determined judgment, we have to course-correct. We must find a way out of those traps and try our hardest to keep the door open. There are so many wonderful people in the world to get to know. But you will never see their inner beauty if you shut yourself off to everyone that is different from you. No one passes through a closed door and a closed door will only leave you with an empty room.