She did her best, but she was young. She sat in her chair, her legs wrapped around its, hunched over the paper. Her fingers gripped the pencil tightly as she concentrated on her work. Meticulous stroke after meticulous stroke.
one point someone with a ball crashed into her, prompting her to put
down her pencil and exclaim “Be careful! I’m writing here!” before
turning back to her work. She gave an exasperated sigh as she erased the
errant stroke caused by the juxtaposition of her elbow and a
of the clock on the wall, she toiled away until her paper was filled to
her satisfaction. Smiling, she put it aside, only to see that it was
time to leave. She jumped up to go change her shoes and grab her coat,
snagging her paper almost as an afterthought as she ran towards the
“Daddy, Daddy, look what I wrote!” she beamed as only a four-year-old can.
“Let’s see, honey!” he said, as he picked up the paper and examined the huge letters scrawled across the page
wHen CAN WE
GO SEE HER
“Did I write it good?” she asked, hopping from one foot to another.
“You did, honey,” he said, a tear forming in his eye.
“Did I make any mistakes?” she asked excitedly.
spelled every word right, but some of your letters need practice,” he
said gently. “Mommy would have been proud of you,” he added.
She took his hand, and they left the classroom to go home.