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Thanksgiving
Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun1—to draw a picture of something for which
they were thankful.
Most of the class considered turkey and other traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the2of most of her students' art. And they were. But in her class there was a different kind of boy, Douglas. He was always unhappy. When other children played together, he was likely to stand close by the teacher's side. The boy drew a hand in his picture.3else. Just an empty-hand.
Whose
hand4it be? His abstract(抽象的) picture made classmates really5. One child guessed it
was the hand of the6, because they raise turkeys. Another
suggested police officers, because the police7and care for people. Still others guessed
it was the hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went8the
teacher almost forgot the young artist himself.
When
the children went on to other projects, she9at Douglas' desk, bent
down, and asked him10hand it was. The little boy looked away
and said in a low voice, "It's11,
teacher."
The
teacher recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here or
there as she had the other students. How often had she said, "12my
hand, Douglas, we'll go outside," Or, "Let me13you
how to hold your pencil." Or, "Let's do this together." Douglas
was most thankful for his teacher's hand.
Hearing
the boy's words, tears ran down the teacher's face. She brushed aside a tear
and went on with her work.
The
story speaks of14than
thankfulness. It says something about teachers teaching and parents parenting
and friends showing friendship. They might not always say15, but they'll remember the hand that
reaches out.
