Years ago, a friend was teaching elementary school in North Georgia. Many nights, she’d stay late, well past dark, 9 p.m. even, getting her classroom ready for the next day. Often, dinner was Sonic drive-thru on the way home.
One night, a noise at her window.
Tap, tap, tap.
It was the mother of one of her students. She lived nearby, had probably seen the lights on. In her hands, a paper plate, an extra helping of dinner – chicken, green beans, chocolate brownies.
This is for you, she said, handing it through the open window.
