Category Archives: Letters to Little Ones

Dear Little One,

You were the best part of my day.  You finished your work and  sprawled on the rug with your notebook.  Last year’s Easter dress ballooned around you and one of your silver glittery ballet shoes slipped off your foot as you moved onto your stomach to write.  I watched you write, sweet little princess.  Your eyebrows gathered together, your mouth sounded out each word carefully.  Other kids plopped on the rug with their notebooks, but you didn’t even notice.  I wondered what it was that had captured your attention so dramatically.  As I moved around the room, my eyes kept flicking over to you.  You never took your gaze off the page.

It came time for Author’s Chair.  To my delight you sat at the rug, notebook in the crook of your lap, and raised your hand.  Anticipation tingled in my veins.  You began to read about missing your granddad.  You wrote about wishing he was still here with you.  My heart lurched because I know what it means to miss someone with that kind of urgency.  Oh, yes, I know it like I know the flecks of gold in Terry’s eyes, like I know the sound of my mother’s voice.

Your last line cut deep.  ”I wish I had something to remember him by.”  You blinked back tears and I was blinking them back right along with you.  I think we all were. When you finished, a flurry of hands shot up, not to be the next reader, but to share about losing a loved one.  You gave us that moment and for that I’m grateful.

I know you wish you had something to remember your Granddad by, something to hold in your hands or rub against your cheek.  I wish I could give that something to you.  But, Little One, let me just say that you created something to remember him by today.

Love,

Mrs. McCauley

Posted by stuckinmypedals in Letters, Letters to Little Ones, School Days

Dear Little One,

You are so timid, so fragile, like you are made from hollowed eggshells.  The computer makes you cry.  The bathroom makes you cry.  Talking makes you cry.  You fog up your tiny glasses with rushes of hot tears.  I didn’t even know that was possible.  You dart your eyes away from mine and have never made eye contact.  I think your goal each day is to be invisible.

Our goodbye routine is always a high-five.  Never a hug.  Never a smile.  And when our palms meet, I can’t help but notice yours is trembling.  I think your tiny twig arms tremble like that all the time.

Yesterday, after our standard goodbye high-five, I asked you “Are we ever going to hug?”

You looked at the wall.

“I’ve got a hug waiting for you when you want it.”  I smiled.

“Tomorrow.”, you said, hurrying to the coat rack to retrieve your backpack.  You wear your backpack in front, like a shield, and I wonder what it is you’re protecting yourself from.

Today I thought all day long about how you’d choose to say goodbye.  Would you offer your wavering palm?  Or maybe, just maybe, would you drop your guard enough to let me hug you?

The end of the day arrived and you opened your arms and stretched them toward me.  They were shaking.  Your whole body was shaking.  I hugged you tight and undoubtedly too long.

I let you go and you took a step toward the coat rack.  And then you looked back at me.  You looked me in the eye and said “See you tomorrow, Mrs. McCauley.”

“See you tomorrow.” I replied, unsuccessfully fighting back tears.  Little one, I promise to see you, really see you, every day, especially on days when you are willing yourself into invisibility behind your glasses.

Let go of your fear.  Put down your shield.  I am safe.  I will not break you, sweet little one made of eggshells.  My arms are open to you.  Be brave, little one, brave enough to open yours again.

Love,

Mrs. McCauley

Posted by stuckinmypedals in Letters, Letters to Little Ones, School Days