Hand-Written Letters and Cookies


Several of the students in my husband’s calculus classes were once students in my middle school classes. I used to bring them cookies and muffins and drinkboxes all the time, because they had to eat lunch at 10:30 and by 2:30 or so, they were hungry. Middle school kids need a lot of food, and if you don’t think so, you just don’t remember very well. Besides, most of my students were poor, and depended on school for their breakfast and their lunch and on Chance for their supper. These circumstances were NOT the children’s fault, and I baked bread and occasionally scrambled eggs and poured juice for them with a full heart and with no grudgings. (That was reserved for some of the parents who bought cigarettes and beer instead of warm socks and food for their children, and for the administrators who wrote me up every time they caught me feeding my students, but I rant about that all the time.)

Anyway.

Hub brought me a note written on a large piece of red paper the other day. It was from his Period Four math class, and they respectfully requested some no-bake cookies. I make those on occasion for Hub’s classes, in memory of the classroom full of hungry 13-year-olds I once had, and I don’t think I’ve done it for Period Four yet.

It’s almost midnight, but heck. No-bake cookies don’t take very long. So yeah, I’ll do it. I’m a sucker for a hand-written letter.

They do look a lot like cat poop, but trust me – they’re good.


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