Following The Rules

During a discussion of sarcasm last night, Herself had a flashback.  She had not thought about a particular moment in ages. Eons. Practically a lifetime ago.

She was about six years old -- first grade, she thinks -- on an ordinary school day in autumn.  It was recess, and she and a few others were playing on the upper playground of the grade school.  One one side of the blacktop, there was the little hill that was an ideal spot for sledding in cold weather; behind them sat the red brick building; and on the far side was a chain-link fence, with a small gap through which some of the children who lived on the adjacent street would slip when they were running late for the bell, in lieu of walking all the way around to the main gate.

She and the others bounced the red playground ball back and forth until the ball escaped someone's hands and headed towards that gap in the chain-link fence.  She chased it through the gap, and then suddenly froze in horror on the sidewalk just outside the fence.  The warning flashed, screeching, into her brain:  Don't run into the street.  She'd almost done so, and had pulled up short just in time.  The horror.  She should have stopped inside the fence itself. Shame on her. Careless, stupid, she chastised herself.

When they returned to the classroom after recess, the teacher called the class to attention because she wanted to point something out.  "What happened at recess?" The teacher inquired.  Her young brain promptly filled in the details:  The ball went into the street.  I almost went into the street. I was on the sidewalk, one step away from being in the street.  I made a mistake.  The teacher looked at her, and she knew she needed to respond. She answered in a tiny voice:  "The ball went into the street."  "And what did you do?" The teacher asked. Oh, no. She knows I forgot. She's telling me to admit what I did - I was right there by the street.  I was bad. I did the wrong thing. She is going to make fun of me.  She breathed as quietly as possible:  "I went to the street?"  She braced herself for mockery.

The teacher must not have heard her properly, for she replied in a kind and approving voice, "That's right. You didn't go into the street.  Good job."  Then the teacher turned back to the chalkboard, and lessons began again.

She sat, incredulous.  A kindness had been delivered to her, right there in front of the entire class.  The teacher was sincere.  She praised me for stopping just in time. She did not scorn me.  How can that be?  She was temporarily stunned; having prepared for the impact of verbal derision, she was unsure how to uncurl herself mentally even when the danger was past.  Slowly, slowly, she turned her young mind back to the classroom activity.  And the afternoon wore on, uneventfully.
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Four decades later, what she remembers most is bracing herself for sarcastic criticism, only to experience the strange absence of a verbal blow. Her surprise at the lack of ridicule forever burned the memory of that tiny event into her brain, such that she can easily recall the precise emotions all these years later.

She wonders now:  why did she expect what she did?

Perhaps, she thinks, some questions are best left unanswered.

I found this ball here.