Beauty in the day: he wanted an ice pack. “I need an ice pack for my arm,” he said, massaging his shoulder at the joint.
“What happened? Why is it hurting?”
“It hurts because I was raising my arm for so long.”
“Oh – I don’t think an ice pack will really work for that, but….wow! You must be a really good student! Were you raising your hand and waiting to answer a question?”
He said no, but explained further. “I was raising my arm to signal zero noise level.”
I faked a double-take. “Seriously? Wow! You really ARE a good student!” I stood up and motioned to shake his hand, which he allowed, in a proud-yet-bewildered manner. I dismissed him then, calling after him, “Keep up the good work!”
Unlike some of the kids who leave with no memory of why they had arrived in the first place, this one left happy, but kept looking back at me on his way down the hall.
He may be onto me.
Beauty in the day: he came and stood at the tall end of the desk, his eyes peeking at me. I asked him why he was there.
“Well, I was in line, and [one classmate] got in line in front of me….” he trailed off for just a moment, and looked distant – then resumed. “And [other classmate] got in line behind me.”
I waited for the terrible tragedy that must have befallen him at this point.
He blinked. Three times, I think.
That was it. The tragedy.
At least, that was all I was getting.
Beauty in the day: he came to school with his two fingers taped together. He said that he had a broken finger and that it happened two days ago – no, two weeks ago. Mid-class, he decided he wanted to change the tape, so he came to the Clinic. I bound it with some of that paper first-aid tape. Not too tight.
“I’m so lucky I have a pencil,” he informed me. “At recess I can let people sign my finger.”
The he added, “The good one. I don’t want them to sign the bad one.”
Beauty in the day: he came to the office from recess with a “broken arm”. He didn’t tell my assistant why he was there – just that he was waiting for me.
When I came, he informed me (with worried eyes) that he had broken his arm at recess. Desiring to reassure him, I looked boldly at his tattooed forearm, and pronounced that he had no need to worry; the arm wasn’t broken.
This was met with crocodile tears and a low whine – I had clearly said the wrong thing. I encouraged him to come into the clinic so we could examine him, which he did. The clinic aide was on-hand, and when she heard the news that his arm had been broken, she gave him a much-needed “awwwwwwww!”
This did much to bring healing to this younger brother of Aussie Boy.
Beauty in the day: driving to work with a lot on my mind – and I turned the corner, and saw the sky – the kind that is my favorite, sort of stormy with the sun shining in, and making everything look super-vibrant – – and I knew.
Beauty in the day: standing in line to see the Terra Cotta Warriors led to another wait in a darkened vestibule. Little 7-ish-year-old waiting near me with mom and dad was finding the wait to be – well – challenging. It became apparent that the little one was involved in dance or cheer, as she was doing steps and arm motions in her spot, much to the consternation of her mother, who would whisper to her to stop. Little One would stop, but the rhythm had a hold of her, and within seconds she would be back at it, only to be reminded by mom to stop again. This continued (to my delight), and gave credence to Maya Angelou’s quote: “Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”
Beauty in the day: it’s the mom of the very young woman with a new (to her) pair of lungs. That mom has done some serious time in her life, and all her heartbeats have been for others.
Tammy Spading Wallace – you don’t need to donate your heart – it’s already been filling up so many people with love. ❤️