In honor of someone we love who recently broke her arm,
I thought I would share the sympathy I received when I broke my arm.
The first time, anyway. I was six.
This is one of my treasured childhood possessions.
{Click a picture to see a larger image.}
My brother's class at school took it upon themselves to make me a book,
from whence these photos come. I smile to myself, picturing the adults these children have become, and their innocent and heartfelt expressions of sympathy.
If I had found it, I would also have included a photo of myself, triumphant with my very hard and brilliantly pink cast. Or the numerous stickers from the doctor that filled my little sticker book.
"This is a chocolate chip cookie," he declairs, as if certain I will not otherwise know. Next page over, they have me dreaming of ice cream.
In actuality, what I most desired {and delightedly received} was cinnamon toast.
But the blueberry pie in the hospital wasn't bad either.
{Sorry for the duplicate. I'm having no success deleting one.}
In these cases, the picture must be worth a thousand--
or at least the few they would have written--words.
And finally the teacher, who like my grandmother, wrote with pictures. Which I loved, and still love.
