My Most Grievous Fault

Yesterday, when I went to pick up my 1st-grade students from their home rooms, I was met with an overly fraught, tearful–no–weeping M-.  He began by giving me a blow-by-blow description of the above letter, throwing into the mix other lapses of memory to date:  I forgot my jacket Monday and they wouldn’t let me  go outside.  Mrs. T- made me drink all my milk. Then I forgot my lunch box,  and I had to buy lunch.  I forgot my jacket last week    . . .  All the while crying and trilling his “Rs.” (He’s from Bulgaria.)

I wanted to smile because he reminded me of Chunk from The Goonies, and at the same time relieved that he is only seven and would not have many more past confessions to divulge. (Now all five other students are gawking at him which caused a fresh set of tears and the flailing of arms.) But I could see that he was clearly frustrated and upset. So I told him toward the end of class that I thought it was a well-written letter. He finally smiled.

By 3:10 when the students were well on their way home and when I should have been preparing for the next day’s classes and wondering whether I should have checked to see if M- had his homework folder neatly tucked into his backpack, I decided instead to take a break and read a good book.

Quote of the Day for YOU:     Instead of complaining that the rosebush is full of thorns, be happy that the thorn bush has roses. ~Proverb

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