Last night I finished teaching and came out to check on the kids who were eating and/or doing homework. I went to clean up the kitchen countertops and Jake raced around the corner to point out the pencil he had sitting up there that he was hoping Mike could super-glue together.
The pencil was a "Pop-a-point" pencil. Don't know what I'm talking about? Let me show you:And did anyone know that's what these were called? I finally found out after searching the Internet for a good hour. I was only watching the game last night.
Anyway - the pencil on the counter was in about a million pieces. Okay - maybe not a million, but I believe there were at least five separate pieces and that didn't include the lead pieces. I looked at it and declared it dead. I told Jake there was no way his dad could fix that. I proceeded to pick up the pieces and start to toss them in the garbage.
Suddenly Jake was obsessing over this, "his favorite" pencil. I explained there was nothing we could do about it and it was pointless to keep it, but what did he intend to do? He just wanted to put it in his room so he could look at it. At the pile of a pencil. I told him that I wasn't okay with that; it would end up on the floor in a million more pieces and someone would step on it or I would end up picking up the pieces anyway. I tossed it. Call me heartless, but I tossed it.
Waterworks. I ignored these.
Mumbling with waterworks. I ignored these as well.
But then I heard this amid the waning sobs: "I probably won't have a great life now...not without that pencil."
Do you think his future therapist will have ever heard that one: "It all started when I was seven and my mom threw away my pencil."