My son’s teacher pulled me aside this afternoon and said, “I’d like to tell you a story…in private.”
I’m not going to lie. I have been pulled aside by his teachers before.
There was the time in preschool when he pretended he was at a party and the playground mulch was his confetti. And, who can forget the time he followed the principal around like a mime? Not me.
So, today was nothing new. My son’s teacher sent him down the hall to put some things away, then she turned to me and said, “The other day, I looked down to see your boy’s hand in the front pocket of my pants.”
I put my hand on my forehead and began to shake my head from side to side.
She continued, “I told him that he couldn’t do that and I thought that was the end of it.”
My eyes opened wide in disbelief. “It wasn’t the end of it?”
“No, it wasn’t the end of it, because later that day I reached in my pocket for something and pulled out his dirty tissue.”
And then she started cracking up.
Thank you, God, for making my son use a tissue in the first place and thank you even more for a first grade teacher with a sense of humor.