The Hand

My mother sent this to me over Thanksgiving last year.


Of course, it gave me another reason to appreciate my decision to wear waterproof mascara that day.


Have some tissue ready:


  THE HAND


                Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a fun
                assignment -- to draw a picture of something for which they were thankful.


                Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but still
                many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other traditional goodies
                of the season. These, the teacher thought, would be the subjects of most of
                her student's art. And they were.


                But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different kind
                of boy. He was the teacher's true child of misery, frail and unhappy. As
                other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to stand close by her
                side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt behind those sad eyes.


                Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of something
                for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else. Just an empty hand.


                His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand could
                it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because farmers raise
                turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the police protect and
                care for people. Still others guessed it was the hand of God, for God feeds
                us. And so the discussion went -- until the teacher almost forgot the young
                artist himself.


                When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at Douglas'
                desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was.


                The little boy looked away and murmured, "It's yours, teacher."


                She 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, "Take my hand,
                Douglas, we'll go outside." Or, "Let me show you how to hold your pencil."
                Or, "Let's do this together." Douglas was most thankful for his teacher's
                hand.


                Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.


                The story speaks of more than thankfulness. It says something about teachers
                teaching and parents parenting and friends showing friendship, and how much
                it means to the Douglases of the world. They might not always say thanks.
                But they'll remember the hand that reaches out.


                -- Author Unknown

Happy Thanksgiving, dear teachers.