OCR Text |
Show 1 JayWamsley ClCSks I The following is adapted from a classic editorial appearing In the Baltimore Sun, November 1961. We share it for your year-end reflection. Mrs. Gifford was low in spirit as she told her first-graders, as in so many years past, to draw a picture of something for which they were especially thankful during the past year. She thought once again of how little to be thankful for these particular children, the mixed offerings of a progressively deteriorating neighborhood, actually had. She wondered what she herself in her lonely state would have drawn, if the assignment were hers. From her long experience as a teacher, Mrs. Gifford knew that when it came time to show the papers, most of the class would have drawn pictures of turkeys or beautifully laden Christmas trees or dining room tables. That was what the majority believed was expected ex-pected of them. She also knew with certainty that Janey would draw a picture labeled "Mother," because Janye's mother would have expected it of her. As for Robert, he would draw a battleship because he was always drawing battleships (although his explanation would be as plausible as ever: battleships protect us and so they are something to be thankful for). What took Mrs. Gifford back was Douglas's picture. Douglas she looked upon as her true child of misery, so scrubby and forlorn, and so likely to be found close in her shadow as they went outside for recess. Douglas's drawing was simply this: A hand obviously, but whose hand? The class had its own ideas, seemingly captivated by the abstract and surprising image. "I think, teacher, that it must be the hand of God that brings us food," said one. "A farmer," said another, because they grow the turkeys." "It looks more like a policeman, and they protect us." "So do the battleship men." (This from Robert.) "No, not a policeman; the crossing guard lady who helps us across the street." :, "Mothers help children most of all." (Janey, of course.) "It's Uncle Sam, Mrs. Gifford, I remember a hand in the paper like that one once, taking some children into a school." "I think," said Lavina, who is always so serious and final, "that it is supposed to be all the hands that help us, only Douglas could only draw one of them." Mrs. Gifford had almost forgotten Douglas in her pleasure at finding the class so responsive. He looked embarrassed now, and unwilling to explain to the class. When she had the others at work on their numbering, she bent over his desk, seeing again the raveled sweater against the dirty neck, and asked whose hand it was. Douglas barely mumbled, "It's yours, teacher." Back at her desk, Mrs. Gifford thought of how she must have taken Douglas by the hand from time to time. She often did that with the children and Douglas was usually standing silently by. But that it ! should have meant so much. Perhaps, she reflected this was her New Year and everybody's New Year. Not the material things given unto us, but the chance in whatever small way to give something to others. ' j |