An Apple for the Teacher
Her name was Miss Mills. She was twenty-two years old and fresh out of college, and my son was a student in her first ever kindergarten class. He fell in love with her on the first day of school. He never told me this, of course, but a mother always knows. He came home that first day and he sparkled as he told me everything that had happened, how Miss Mills had read them a story from a brightly colored picture book and how he had hung on her every word.
"And I want to get her an apple," he announced.
"An apple?" I asked. I was peeling grapes for his lunch the next day.
"Yes," he said, "it was in the book we read today. The kids, they gave their teacher an apple, and I think it would be a nice thing to do."
"Alright," I said, "we will get some apples. Any kind of apple in particular?"
He thought about it. "A big red one."
The next morning he marched off to school with his big proud apple held delicat