My Sisters of Saint Anne

LISE PAYETTE

All my life, I have told anyone and everyone who cared to listen about all I owe the Sisters of Saint Anne. Without them, I certainly would never have become what I am today, for better or for worse.

I was born in St-Henri, a well-known working class district of Montréal. I had the good fortune to be born into an honest family that encouraged free-thinking, something rare at that time. That was important, because in a less honest family, I might have turned out badly.

I did all my studies with the Sisters of Saint Anne. They were the only ones who would teach in a working-class neighbourhood. While they were concerned about teaching us to read and write French properly, they also wanted us to learn to count in French. They took the time to make sure we had a good head on our shoulders and to form our minds and our judgment.

In a neighbourhood that valued submissiveness, they encouraged rebellion. Not the protesting-in-the-street variety, but the rebellion of the mind and heart. They taught me that I could become whatever I wanted to be in life, and that no mountain was too high. I believed them.

Some of the sisters stand out in my memory, the ones who were with me as I discovered life with all its joys and sorrows, the ones who pushed me into the spotlight, whispering “You can do it!”, the ones who gave me confidence in myself when I needed it most.

One day, while I was Québec Minister for the Status of Women, they appeared before me in a parliamentary commission to request an amendment to their act of incorporation, which was under my responsibility. That was the only time I gave in to a lobby group. I would have given them the moon, if they had asked me for it. Because that is what it would take to repay some of the debt I owe them.

I will ever and always be grateful to them.