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Thursday, 07 June 2007

Pink Pearl

[EDITORIAL NOTE: As of Sunday, 3 June, there are just two new stories in the queue for next week. This blog depends on reader-contributed stories to stay alive and without you, there is no Elder Storytelling Place. So whether you have published stories here before and particularly if you have not, it's your move. Here are some guidelines to help you out.]

By Norm Jenson of Mostly Anecdotal

The eraser left my thirteen-year old hand with nary a thought, arching through the air true to a target not consciously chosen. The target, the top of the teacher’s head, and from there the Pink Pearl® hit the blackboard raising a puff of white and then to the floor. The class giggled, then silence.

The teacher stopped what she was doing, touched her left hand to her head. Her right, still clutching a piece of chalk, moved the chalk from left to right, picked up the Pink Pearl®, then she turned and placed it in her desk drawer. She rose, looked out over a class of anxious faces, mostly turned towards me. She didn’t say anything for several moments.

Oh, what have I done. Pictures of me in the office, of me suspended, of me returning to school with my parents. I willed the past to turn and track back to the moment when the Pink Pearl® was still in my hand. I envisioned the Pink Pearl® as it returned from the desk to her hand, the floor, returned the dust of chalk to the board and from there left her head and followed that gentle arch again safely in my hand. To have that choice again. Though like I said, I don’t recall it being a choice.

That was funny, she said, no sarcasm, but it’s not appropriate behavior in my class. It will never happen again, and I’ll be keeping the Pink Pearl®. She again paused as if to give someone, me, an opportunity to claim that which had been mine. Can anyone tell me how van Gogh viewed his own work? Sarah.

Was that it, was I off the hook, or would I be asked to remain when class ended. Fifteen minutes remained, fifteen very long minutes. The bell rang. The class rose and filed from the room. As I passed the teacher she smiled. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

Posted by Ronni Bennett at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Email this post

Comments

You were lucky! She had a good sense of humor.

Ah yes, we have said or done things we sometimes wish we could undo. Fortunately, no physical harm done to her, so she could be lenient. Punishment is often not the best way to deal with some behaviors. I gather you didn't do that again, or did you? ;-) Like your stories.

Just that once. I was indeed lucky and made the most of my good fortune. In the forty plus years since that day I can tell you I've not beaned a single teacher with an eraser. Glad you like the stories.

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