Miss Blackwell needed a pencil. She asked her class of eight-year-olds for a volunteer to get one for her. Geordie's hand shot up. Overly eager as always to help, he misunderstood his teacher's request. Off he went, running home as fast as he could manage, knowing there was a newly sharped pencil lying beside the phone, on the desk in the entrance hall.
Surprising his mother by his visit, confusing her by his strange request, she reluctantly gave Geordie the pencil. Head shaking, she watched from the window as he quickly pedaled his little legs across the tram tracks which passed in front of their house. A moment later he turned a corner and was gone. Clutching the pencil and running for all he was worth, Geordie raced himself down the road and up the hill to the old, gray, clapboard sided school.
Breathless, hair askew, proud of his effort, he held out his trophy to Miss Blackwell.
She looked at the pencil, at the clock, then at Geordie.
"I believe, Geordie, that the office is still next to the teachers room?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Then perhaps you could tell me, and the class, why it took you so long?"
As her question slowly sank in and snickers and giggles began to build from the desks behind him, a light clicked on in his head.
Wide eyed, stunned by the realization of his error, crimson cheeked he stuttered out his shame."I...I...thought you meant for me to get one from...my.. .my home."
Miss Blackwell regarded him silently, with the concentrated curiosity of a botanist fascinated by a flower known but rarely seen.
"Your home? Am I to understand that at no time did you question what you were doing?"
"No Ma'am. You needed a pencil, so I went to get one for you."
"Hmm. Well, I find it strange you didn't realize the school keeps spare pencils in the office."
"I knew that Ma'am. but. . .I. . .I thought teachers brought their own things. You know,. . . pencils and stuff. . .and that you'd just forgotten yours, and I, well, because we had a couple of new ones at home. . ."
"Geordie! Teachers are attended to in this school as equally as the children, the office does not ignore requests from either party, rest assured. Now, as to your other error, a much more serious transgression. Surely you must know, that if you leave the school grounds when school is in session you will be punished. Parents expect the school to know where their children are at all times. You put me, and the school, in the unfortunate position of being liable if anything had happened to you after you left!"
"I'm sorry...I didn't know that Miss Blackwell, really. I just wanted you to have a pencil."
Confronted by an honest error commited by a sincerely contrite little boy, Miss Blackwell was torn by rules which stipulated punishment for his misdemeanor--even if it were the product of misguided chivalry--and the boy's innocent desire to please.
"What you did, Geordie, was wrong, even if it were for the right reason. Do you understand what I mean when I say that?".
"I think so, Ma'am."
"Good. Think about it, and after class this afternoon we'll discuss it further. Perhaps writing it out a few dozen times will get it into your head. Now, please, return to your desk."
Sliding into his seat, upset at his foolishness, aware that the entire class was waiting to have a go at him as soon as the bell rang, he wondered if maybe, someday, he would again do the wrong thing for the right reason, and if so, would he know.
"Oh, and Geordie."
Shimmying quickly out of his seat, Geordie stood stiffly beside his desk, arms pressed tightly against his sides, eyes trained on the floor, afraid to look at his teacher, afraid to show his fear of what might be coming next.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Thank you." He looked up in time to catch a twinkle in her eye.
Grinning from ear to ear, Geordie settled proudly into his seat.
Copyright © 2010 by Gordon B Wales. All Rights Reserved.
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