The gray knee socks, pleated skirts and white blouses were a dead giveaway.

It was difficult to get away with mischief while wearing the Catholic schoolgirl uniform. The same goes for the boys who stood out with their neatly pressed dress pants, crisp shirts and don’t ever forget your ties, boys.

Growing up Catholic in a city the size of Wheeling meant we kind of stood out among the rest of the crowd when we were dressed for school.

And because my high school, Wheeling Central Catholic, was located a stone’s throw from downtown Wheeling, we had to be on our best behavior if we ventured off campus at lunchtime or at the end of the school day.

That’s not to say we didn’t give our principal and dean of discipline plenty to pray about. We sometimes did.

I am of the age that remembers the time when Catholic school kids were not permitted to ride Ohio County school buses to class.

I have a distinct memory of standing at the public bus stop with my siblings and having snowballs thrown at us from students on a public school bus.

I guess we were obvious targets in our school uniforms.

Yet another time a couple of neighborhood kids insisted we couldn’t play on their public school playground even though it was within walking distance of our home.

By the time I was in high school, common sense and the fact our parents paid taxes, too, Catholic school kids were given access to the public school bus system.

My bus ride home from Central took us over Wheeling Hill through Fulton and out the pike. Our bus driver was a sweet guy and treated us like any other kids. I was always appreciative of that after experiencing what I came to know as prejudice.

He even got us home — although hours later than usual — after a snowstorm struck the city.

That was a long time ago, yet there are things that often remind me of how our faith has defined us over the years. When our parents moved us to our Woodsdale home when I was 3, there were whispers in the neighborhood about “that big Catholic family.” There weren’t many others like us at first, but soon more families moved in and began to populate the street with a host of kids.

The recent naming of the new American Catholic Pope Leo has brought me a renewed sense of faith.

Maybe it’s because I believe that as a kid, Pope Leo may have taken a few hits from a snowball, too.

Heather Ziegler can be reached via email at hziegler@theintelligencer.net.