Yesterday I got a message on Facebook from someone who wondered if we had gone to St. Carries-a-Lamb Girls School together many years ago. I clicked through to her page and found a picture of her at the age we knew each other, and for most of the rest of the evening, we and others from our class left comments on a picture of the class dressed for a pageant about Moses.
I left this particular class by skipping the 6th grade and then moving away a year later. This is the first contact I've had with any of them in many years. I'm surprised some of them would even leave me a message, considering what a little stinker I was at 8.
Some of them sound and look just as they did years ago, and I mean that kindly. I would like to think *I* have improved over the little girl who climbed out the classroom window, kicked the 4th grade teacher in the shins and spent many hours sitting in the principal's office. And that story about turning on the fire alarm? It's true, but it was an accident. I swear.
I tell you all this to give you hope if you despair that your child will ever figure out how to be a remotely productive member of society. It can happen. Be patient.
Don't I look completely innocent? (Front row, second from the right, fingers on chin.)
(Also, Rev Dr. Mom, you know the girl on my left with the fabulous shepherd's crook, and that is where my Facebook worlds collide.)