The Biggest Little Thing

I think teachers are required to have an appreciation for the little things. That's why we sometimes look like craft store gypsies draped in macaroni necklaces and paper scarves trimmed in glitter. It's also why we will eat (with smiles on our faces) the lop-sided cupcake with a child's thumbprint clearly visible in the frosting or savor the homemade deer jerky that we had to swallow three times to get down our throats. But, the most memorable little thing I ever received was a hair-do. It was four years ago and my first day back teaching after unexpectedly losing my father. When I learned my principal and para-pro told my class the reason for my absence, I was furious--outraged that my children were burdened with that information. Things were feeling out of control, but the bell would ring any minute and start class whether I was ready or not. So, I took a deep breath and pretended I could handle the day. The children materialized like ghosts, silent and somber. They remained extraordinarily quiet all morning. I felt uncomfortable, an outsider in my own classroom. At last, we made it to my favorite part of the day, Read Aloud. The routine offered some comfort and we took our familiar places--me in the creaky, blue rocker and the children spread out at my feet like a fan. I opened the book and we rejoined Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road. After reading a page or two, I felt a tugging at my head. I continued to read and from my periphery, I glimpsed my girls. They showed their compassion in the best way they knew, the most intimate way they knew--they braided my hair. I focused on the words in front of me and forced back the tears. When we finished and lined up for lunch I noticed that no two braids went in the same direction, but I recognized the value of their gift. Not a big deal to some people, but to these children unbraided hair meant you were unloved or, at best, unnoticed at home. Braiding was something reserved for family members, people who loved you, or people you loved. Not something casual to share with an outsider. I left my braids in all day sometimes letting my fingers wander through their maze of crooked angles, a reminder of the incredible people who shared their days with me and now wanted to share their sympathy.
It was the biggest little thing anyone ever did for me.