Category Archives: 1. 100 Word Challenge for Grown Ups #100WCGU

Eyes followed the unknown visitor accompanied by one well known. The visitors stood before those gathered. The angle was very acute as they tilted their heads to study the unknown. Was he a giant?

The school’s Principal spoke, “Mr. Mannell will be your teacher until Mrs. Maxwell returns later this year.”

This was my introduction to the class of five year old children seated on the floor before me. In coming weeks, parents visiting the school were often amused to see a 185cm tall man skipping and dancing around the playground with ones so young.

I had achieved the start of a career I loved.

.

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The time came to be observed, to review the happenings of the days. I was promised a fair and impartial assessment. Hopes were high as was the apprehension of the unknown.

We’ve heard said our lives pass before our eyes at times of threat. This was the experience. All was open to review and assessment. So much was covered yet the process was complete in what seemed an instant. I’d hoped for a Grade 1, 2 or possibly 3. An inadequate Grade 4 was unthinkable.

The time arrived. When the judgement came it was a 2. I’d made a difference.

I was summoned into heaven.

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There are pixies.

When whiling away the afternoon in my garden I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning quickly, I saw one on a yellow daisy.

Discovered, she froze. I assured her I meant no harm.

She introduced herself, “My name is Primrose. I’m a Yixie, a yellow pixie. We care for all things yellow.”

“The other colours?”

“Bixies for blue and Rixies for red,” she explained.

“…but there are many colours.”

Primrose smiled, “We work together. We mix our colours. More or less, we make them all.”

“Yellow is my favourite.”

Primrose smiled, “Mine too.”

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Their teacher was fond of facts and encouraging his class to share experiences.

“There are ten Australian bee species without stings.”

“…but there’s always a sting in the tail of the bee,” one student protested.

Their teacher showed photos of small, black, stingless bees.

After a slight pause, “Has anyone been stung by a bee?”

Stories were shared… then there was Jamie.

Jamie told of his experience with a magic bee. A sting caused him to shrink. He’d lived with bees for two days until returning to normal.

Teacher smiled, “There’s always a sting in your tale.”

Jamie, innocently, “No, sir, the sting was on my arm.”

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I saw an echidna waddling its way around my garden and marvelled at a little creature more akin to the past, a monotreme, an egg-laying mammal.

They’re gentle creatures. Their only defence when threatened is to dig their strong claws into the ground and present their spines.

The points were sharp and it served the echidna well. When threat left, it returned to its gentle foraging.

The echidna can be a metaphor for life. We can make our points in life, sometimes sharp and sometimes in defence, but underneath we must remember who we are and choose a gentle path, not one of violence.

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A moment in time captured, a memory formed so many times brought to mind in future thoughts. The twins, so little, lost in their dreams. They stood close together at our wishing place. Did they dream of fairies and unicorns?

Years have passed. The twins are grown, now mothers to their own. My hair has greyed, my walk now slow, I sit surrounded by all that’s precious to me.

They see the photo.

“Do you remember our wish?” one asked.

They saw my questioning eyes, “We wished to one day be as good a mum as you. Happy Mother’s Day.”

This is a public domain graphic sourced through Wikimedia Commons. To see the original #100WCGU prompt photo, click on the above photo.

Fred Shakespeare had not inherited the gift for words of his ancestor. For that matter, he hadn’t inherited a gift for anything except one. He had a gift for choosing the wrong words in most given situations. Fred was unknowingly skilled in the art of the faux pas.

“Look at that ugly child,” he once said to his now ex-boss before being introduced to his boss’s family.

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” he quoted to dump his girlfriend convinced it meant he was happy to see the end of her.

She had kissed him on the cheek, “You’re so sweet.”

“That went well,” he’d thought.

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This was the day for which I had longed. I was now a teacher. There was a mixture of excitement and apprehension as I saw their young faces. They too wondered what was ahead.

The hairs on my arms stood up, “Good morning, class.”

Many years and many young faces have now passed. I reflect on my career on this my last day. I wondered if I’d made a difference in their young lives.

I opened a card from a former student many years grown, “You were the best teacher a very depressed and confused 11 year old could have hoped for.”

A difference had been made.

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He made his way down an impossibly long hall. Entering a vast room, something ushered him into one of the numerous queues, some moving forward and some moving back towards him.

He heard some complain, “The queue was so long. They said I was in the wrong one.”

He asked one complainer, “Am I in the right queue?”

Agony could be heard in the reply, “You’re new? You don’t know? It’s just the beginning for you. There’s no right queue.”

In time he learnt this was hell for those who had taken pleasure in making others wait in vain in the world of the living.

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