Z looked at me with horror in his eyes this morning. He had just opened his bag, and spent about two minutes looking down at his bag, back at me, at the bag, at me... finally I went over and asked what was up.
"Look," he said, almost a whisper.
So I looked. There was a bag in his bookbag, on top of his books. "What is it?" I asked.
"My granddaddy's gun bag."
"Why is it in your bag?" I was trying to stay calm.
"I don't know." He was trying not to panic. "I did my homework last night. I put my books in my bag. It wasn't there then."
"What's usually in it?"
"His gun."
"What's in it now?"
"I don't know. I didn't mean to. I didn't know..."
"Okay," I said, reaching for the bag, "let's just check it out. I opened it. SLOWLY. Just a holster. Empty. I breathed a sigh of relief-- the bag was turned over to the AP, and life continued. But a little more shakily than before.
1 comment:
Wow, Michelle. As one of your *moms*, I want you to never have to see things like this. I am praying for your students and for you, that the things you teach them will "stick," and that their lives will be DIFFERENT.
love you, sweetie!
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