An Open Letter

Dear Child Who Folded A Page in My Brand New Book,

I just recently finished reading Cheryl Strayed's book Tiny Beautiful Things and there's a chapter in it titled, "Ten Angry Boys".  It made me think of you.  Because as I watched you in class, "reading" and asking the time and distracting peers who were reading I found myself getting angry and upset.  Who do you think you are?

Class ended and as I was straightening up the books I'd generously displayed on the front desk, I noticed how one was oddly askew - just sort of sticking open to the last page you'd "read".  And there it was - a folded over triangle in the upper right corner of the previously pristine copy of my book - my book that I bought with my money after working at my job teaching young people like you.  And it all became so very, very clear.

Why, of course.  Folding over pages = marking territory.  Marking territory = announcing to others that this belongs to you.  This belongs to you = the privilege you likely feel toward things.  But the rub is that the book does not belong to you.  It belongs to me (whatever ownership of tangible items means but that's another blog post) and yet you folded over that page in a symbolic gesture - a mindless gesture - that speaks to me loud and clear.

I was here.

This is mine.

I matter.

And my anger evaporated into pity - the kind of pity no one likes - when someone looks at you knowingly and sees you and your hurt and your scars all covered up with unexcused absences, blame on everyone else but you, losses, arrogance, red Solo cups and a path that leads to a world that will eat you up and spit you back out if you don't soften the edges and put into focus the three tenets of a life well-lived:  what is true, what is good, what is beautiful.

So, to the child who folded a page in my brand new book,  I hope your heart starts to melt a little, sort of  like the edges of an ice cream cone when you're not fast enough with your licks on a hot summer day.  I only have to live with you for a few more weeks.  You've got to live with yourself for the rest of your life.

xoxo

***THIS IS ALL TOTALLY FICTIONAL...JUST PRACTICING MY WRITING, YA KNOW?***