Call Me "Sister Nancy"

When I was in fourth grade, I desperately wanted to be a nun.

I was a student in Sister Rosaleen's class. She was a very strict nun (a cliche born in truth).   Even given her rigidness, there were a group of us girls who really connected with her. As I recall, she didn't care much for the boys.  In her defense, I have to say, the boys were "Grossssss!" (of the milk-up-the-nose-with-a-straw kind), and I didn't much like them either.

Over the years, I've often wondered what it was that made me so interested in joining the sisterhood.   I had just experienced two Catholic Sacraments, confession being one of them. It was a profound experience as a little girl.  In my young mind, I likened it to this idea that by admitting/sharing/divulging my innermost thoughts of what I wish I could do differently, I could be forgiven and start again.  Fresh.  Oh boy.  This was something I wanted more of. And I must have figured being a nun gave you a premium on forgiveness.  I wanted in.  I also remember the nuns at my grade school having the most delicious meals.  I forgot my lunch on two occasions over the years and the Sisters of Notre Dame were kind enough to feed me - yummy sandwiches, homemade banana bread, crunchy apples (not mush balls) - a lot better than than my dried up peanut butter sandwich.

But a couple of years later, while still in Catholic grade school, I volunteered to participate in a skit to be performed in front of the class.  My first comedic role was born - a ditzy weather girl (in pink short shorts and a Bermuda top, no less).  The skit involved me painting my nails while delivering the weather.  When I started pointing to the temperature highs and lows, my nails got stuck to the map because they weren't quite dry.  Laughter ensued.  Comedy gold, right?  But I actually DID hear laughter for the first time.

And because of that laughter, a seed started to grow.

I did not become a nun. Some of those same boys who seemed so annoying in fourth grade, somehow changed. And became cute hockey players for the star 8th grade team. Goodbye sisterhood, hello flirting.


I gave lots of thought to becoming a flight attendant. My father worked for Northwest Airlines, so he was obviously an influence. Travel was an exciting thing to think about.  But in looking back, more than the exotic locations and the uniforms I coveted (to this day, give me a white button-down and I'm in heaven) was the amazing confidence these women exuded.  Everything they did seemed effortless and they could talk to anyone without blushing - a painful self-consciousness I struggled with - and sometimes still battle to this day.

In high school, I performed in a few musicals (so proud to be on the same stage as my big brother).  Secretly, when I would watch the Academy Awards, I would dream about acting. Even the Miss America pageant provided me with inspiration for pursuing that seemingly unlikely dream.  But no one says, "I'm going to be an actor," at least not where I'm from and not back then.

Although my family was a big influence:  seeing my brother Tom on stage in high school plays, taking dance lessons from my uncle and performing in dance recitals, watching my father played banjo and my sister Sue play guitar.  My sister Barbie and I created neighborhood shows in our garage.  We even had a sister act called The Singer Sailors, complete with yardsticks serving as canes and our Dad's sailor hats from his time in the Navy as part of our costume.  Our number one (and only) tune was an original song we wrote entitled, "We're the Singer Sailors."  Catchy, no?

College.  A general ed theatre course my first year in college pushed me over the edge.  Introduction to Theatre and Film was taught by a truly amazing professor, Ron Perrier.  (I later learned about the History of the Greek Theatre from him, as well.)  I had to admit it.  This acting thing was not going away.  I stalked the theatre majors, watching their work on stage, admiring their funky dress code - unlike what everyone else was wearing on campus.  And I eventually became one of them.

A year after graduating, I drove my little car out to Los Angeles.  And have been here every since.

From nun to flight attendant to actor might not seem like a logical progression, but upon reflection all three involve service.

Service to God.

Service to travelers.

Service to the story.

My acting teacher and mentor, Diana Castle, talks about finding the greater purpose as an actor.  The actor's mission is not a self-serving one but for the greater good of telling the story - the actor is the single human who connects to and shares the stories of all humans being.

I still think about what it would be like to be a nun.  And I still longingly look at the flight attendants' uniforms.  But through story, I can still be those things.  Through my imagination, the possibilities are endless.

Who knows?  Maybe I'll even reprise the weather girl.  Or the Singer Sailors.

Anything is possible.