Back Story: Valentina Morales ’95

My skirt was perfectly starched. I’d set it out the night before with my black jean jacket. I pulled my hair back in the neat, severe bun of the day. Should trouble find me on the way, I’d hate it to be with my hair out. My large silver hoop earrings were a gift from my abuelita. This was my first real trip out of Hell’s Kitchen by myself. I had been cultivating my warrior resting face, a necessary street survival skill, for quite some time. It was 1991 in New York City. I was thirteen and headed to my new other home at Notre Dame.

In homeroom I took a seat in the far row, by the window. Seated in front of me was a Bronx beauty, named Ayanna, with amazing glasses and the most brilliant smile. She was so friendly; and in exchange for her kindness, which gave me my first easy breath of the morning, I offered her a collection of colored pens. I could tell from her “no, thank you, but that’s so nice” that she thought I might be a little strange. She remains my truest friend and I couldn’t imagine my life without her.

Notre Dame gave me invaluable gifts. Sr. Mary and Sr. Virginia exemplified leadership, cooperation, and care—the makings of true community. Mr. Joven, our second dad, would let me sit in his office until my occasional panic attacks passed. He didn’t patronize me, overreact, or overanalyze. He just listened, encouraged me to breathe, and calmly opened the mail until the storm was over. Sr. Patricia not only continued to train my singing voice but also attended my out of school performances. I spent hours speaking to Ms. Clark, who at once nurtured my blossoming boldness while always presenting the counterargument. In her Latin classroom, were two amazing posters. One with the quote, “Remember, Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in high heels.” I would remember it when struggling through the often-toxic working environments of the legal world. The other included the photos of 10 amazing individuals who today might identify as members of the LGBTQ community. To many of the young women living in closets with closets, that poster was a lifesaver.

Exploring transcendentalism and The Scarlet Letter with Ms. Crosson was like fireworks in my brain. Ms. Harrington is the reason I went on to major in Spanish in college and develop a bilingual practice after law school. She traveled with me on Saturdays to daylong language competitions and taught us the basics of disco. I lived for her dancing stories. Mr. Povinelli made science a vibrant wonderland of absolute craziness and taught me the only three words of German I know—meine geliebten Kinder. Every class Joseph Rapaglia taught was an exercise in critical thinking. He was brilliant, he loved teaching, he loved us, we knew it, and we loved him. His class laid the foundation for my advocacy. Dr. Jim Mirrione opened worlds that I’d only imagined, creating learning opportunities that took me to different states and countries. When I summarily declared that I was not going to college because the application process was agonizing and repulsive, he made us watch a documentary called Hillary’s Class about Wellesley College. By the following fall, I was unpacking my suitcase at a Wellesley dorm, exhilarated and terrified, thinking of Dr. Jim.

Finally, there was Sr. Sarah. She taught us the Hebrew Scripture, the Gospels, and the letters of Paul. But most of all, she taught me measured, reasoned, and ardent defiance. She modeled how to be a sharp yet cool, calm, and collected all-around badass. She was 4 ft something but always the biggest presence in the room.When I returned to Notre Dame to teach some of those same courses, it was under Sr. Sarah’s tutelage. She opened my heart and my mind, lighting a fire fueled by love that for me felt like revolution. After leaving for law school and even into my practice, Sr. Sarah and I would occasionally meet for lunch. Last year, I was sworn in as a Judge of the Criminal Court in New York City, and on that day I thought of Sr. Sarah. Her passing amid the coldness of the pandemic was heartbreaking. While going through the endless application process for judicial appointment, I’d often dream that she, together with Sr. Mary, Sr. Virginia, and Sr. Mary Theresa (my grammar school principal) would offer the opening prayer. There was no benediction, but perhaps there will be next time and I will walk into that opportunity with all the power and presence that ND cultivated in me. I left St. Mark’s Place truly believing that my classmates and I can and will succeed in any space that God has marked for us.

For these immeasurable Chez Nous gifts, for my ND Sisters, and my ND home, which hopefully will be my daughter’s home soon, I am now and forever so very thankful.

“ I left St. Mark’s Place truly believing that my classmates and I can and will succeed in any space that God has marked for us. ”

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