I was mugged

Occasionally, I will share a valuable lesson that I have learned from life experience with my students. They are always eager to listen. Oh good, they say quietly to one another, a break from math! Quick, look engaged and interested. We might be able to milk at least ten minutes out of this! We had finished a chapter of Gary Paulsen's Mr. Tucket where the main character escapes from the brutal clutches of a Pawnee tribe and is less than thrilled about visiting a Sioux village. I took this opportunity to explain that it is important not to condemn an entire group of people for the irresponsible actions of a few. I reiterated that concept by sharing an incident that happened to me in childhood.

"Not the cotton candy story," Savannah groaned. "You've told that story every other month since I was born."

"That's a great story!" I said defensively, "and applicable to so many situations."

"It is a great story," Brad said carefully, ignoring Savannah's blatant eye-rolling. "But some of it does seems...a  little dramatic. Perhaps you've embellished it a bit over time? We love it when you do that...it's cute," he added quickly.

Furious that I had to seek validation, I called upon my mother as an expert, first-hand witness of what may have been the single-most traumatic event of my life.

"Many years ago," I began, addressing my audience of enthralled 4th graders, "Mrs. Mosiman's family ventured into the city to see The Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. It was a delightful, magical time. As we left, my parents bought me cotton candy. Not that bagged fluff that you get at the store. This was a magnificently colored confectionary concoction balanced on a sturdy stick."

"So far, so good," my mother nodded as I re-told the story at her kitchen table this evening over a poorly-executed game of euchre. I was just too upset to concentrate.

"During the long walk down darkened alleyways to return to our car..." I transitioned.

"We went in the afternoon and were parked a block away," my mother gently corrected.

"I'm setting the tone, Mother," I explained before continuing. "I was a horrible child," I said, glancing at my mother for another quick correction but she seemed overly occupied with her cards so I went on, "I didn't listen to my parents' warning to stay with the group and soon fell behind as I nibbled my sticky snack. Before I knew it, my family was out of sight."

"We could always see you, Amy," my mother said. Apparently, she had finished arranging her cards.

"Suddenly a gang of thugs approached and surrounded me," I shared, my voice quivering with the memory of it.

"There were, maybe, three boys, at most," Mom remembered, leading an ace.

I glared at her and then at my-devoid-of-anything-resembling-trump hand. "They were in their teens, as tall as trees, and mean...mad-dog-mean."

"They were, tops, ten-years-old," whispered my mother.

"Watch out," Brad warned, "she's quoting from The Outlaw Josey Wales."

I sighed in frustration but then rebounded, remembering my mother owned an AARP card which was clear evidence that her memory was clearly not as sharp as mine. The fact that she'd effortlessly beat me in two back-to-back games of euchre didn't cause me any concern at all.

"These ruthless villains seized my cotton candy, ripping it out of my innocent little hands, leaving me, shocked and snack-less, on the sidewalk. After a moment's silence, I let out a howl that filled the darkness..."

"...of the afternoon," my mother concluded before deciding to go alone on her current hand.

"See!" I crowed, "I was mugged!" I frowned as my father added four points to his and my mother's existing score but nonetheless lifted my hands up victoriously. Mother, father, husband and daughter all regarded me doubtfully. Sure, some of the smaller details of my tale were a little rough but the meat of the story was raw truth. Certainly my family could now see that?

My students sat in stunned silence as I finished this account from my youth. I could feel waves of empathy emanating from their sincere little hearts. We had made an important text-to-life connection as they regarded the parallels between Mr. Tucket and Mrs. Mosiman. As Mr. Tucket had to understand that he couldn't blame all Native Americans for the actions of one cruel Pawnee warrior, so too, should Mrs. Mosiman NOT expect all city people to, without warning, steal her cotton candy.

"We've learned an important lesson today, children," I said as they all nodded in agreement, some of them glancing inexplicably at the clock with satisfaction. "Does anyone want to share what they've learned?

One small hand was raised in the air. "Yes," I prompted, smiling.

"Maybe next time, you should hold onto your cotton candy tighter," my young scholar advised.

"Maybe next time, you should stick a little closer to the truth," my mother advised.

"Maybe next time, I'll keep my valuable life experiences to myself and they won't be able to benefit anyone," I pouted.

"Hey! Maybe someone finally did learn something from this story," Savannah said happily.