09 September 2003 - 10:13 AM
Not much to report. Grandpapa was stable yesterday. Hospice is supposed to evaluate him today.
My seniors -- my silly, bratty, spoiled, immature, difficult kids who've been making my life hell since they were freshmen -- got wind of the fact that Grandpapa was not well from somewhere. Probably Sis; I know she talked to the Deacon about prayers. When they arrived for second period yesterday, they came in rather more quietly than usual, and after some shuffling of feet one of them spoke up.
"We're really sorry about your grandpa. Is there anything we can do, like make cards or something?"
I admit, I blinked. I was thinking about the Aeneid (among the little joys of World Lit are the paybacks -- I give them a guided tour of underworlds from three different cultures), not craft projects, and this group has never demonstrated itself to be thoughtful or considerate anyway.
"Err," I said, cleverly. "What would you make cards with?"
"I have markers!" "I have coloured pencils!" A whole chorus of voices offered art supplies. "All we need is white paper."
"Well, OK." I pulled some white paper out of my filing cabinet and they took off. They made cards for my grandparents with a dedication which I have never seen them demonstrate before (and may never see again). Some of them finished one and set about making more. By the end of the period I had an impressive stack of cards, and they were all beautiful. After school I took them and showed them all to Grandmaman, and then took them to Grandpapa's room and hung them where he could see them.
My kids. My silly, bratty, obnoxious, sweet, darling, great kids.