Called to the Teacher

I took the boys to school.

Possum's drop off was straightforward, he blew me a kiss and ran off with his best friend. Beaver however still likes to be taken to his class.

When we got there his class teacher, Mrs. D., called me over from the other end of the playground.

"Mrs. Fabig" she shouted, "I would like to have a quick word with you before you go!"

Oh dear, what's happened? I thought as Mrs. D. came striding over.

Mrs. D. asked Beaver to join us, and off we went to his desk. She winked at Beaver and pulled out his Scripture book.

"I really wanted to show you this" And she opened the last page in the book. I looked at it blankly. Some Year 1 kid had written some lines about "a time to live and a time to die". So?

Then Mrs. D. told me in a proud voice that it was in fact Beaver who had written these clearly recognisable words. He had copied them from the blackboard in the same time as the other children. The words were clear and well formed. They were good. Very good. In fact, according to Mrs. D. some of Beaver's class mates in his little scripture discussion group clapped spontaneously when they noticed how well Beaver had written his words.

Beaver looked mightily pleased with himself.

Mrs. D. was proud as punch.

She turned around with slightly watery eyes and gave me a big hug.

"It's happening" she said. "He's got it, it's happening. His writing is really getting there."

Mrs. D. was proud as punch.

I was proud as punch.