A few weeks ago, I -- perhaps inappropriately -- shared with Mallory my strongest memory of my kindergarten days, which is this: I had to share a locker with a boy named Reuben, and Reuben was mean. Reuben was mean because every time we were at the locker at the same time, Reuben would turn to me and shout, "My locker! My locker!" And in my memory of this, Reuben's dark hair is spiky and villainous and his eyes are glowing with wrath and spittle flies from his mouth as he proclaims our locker to be his sole domain. You don't have to tell me that my memory may be embellishing the facts just a bit for dramatic purposes.
So Mallory, I don't know why or under what circumstances, apparently told this story to her kindergarten class. The whole class. And the whole class was awash with indignation. "Oh my!" her teacher said. Many kids said, "That's not nice!" And one boy, the boy who "always tries to help people," according to my daughter, said, "I'm going to find that boy and tell him to be nice to your mother!"
I am absurdly touched.
As for Reuben -- wherever you are today, you just better watch your back.
So Mallory, I don't know why or under what circumstances, apparently told this story to her kindergarten class. The whole class. And the whole class was awash with indignation. "Oh my!" her teacher said. Many kids said, "That's not nice!" And one boy, the boy who "always tries to help people," according to my daughter, said, "I'm going to find that boy and tell him to be nice to your mother!"
I am absurdly touched.
As for Reuben -- wherever you are today, you just better watch your back.
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