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Quack

January 15, 2014

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Hearing a duck quack reminds me that that was the only sound I could ever make come out of saxophone.

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In my book, Bell to Bell: A Get-Through-Today Devotional for Teachers , I tell the story of the time the math teacher down the hall called me down to her room so she could show me something strange she had found. There in the back of the room, where the wall met the floor, was a small plant, surrounded by a small mound of dirt. She and I both stood there, trying to figure out where it had come from. There was no crack in the floor or the wall. Had it really found a way through a foot of cinderblock from the outside to the inside? And how was it surviving at all, lit only by fluorescent lights each day? It was a mystery—until one night when the custodian decided to sweep the plant into the trash. The next day, a boy, who I’ll call Sam, raced over to the teacher’s desk, upset and out of breath. “What happened to my plant?” he asked. Sam was not the best of students. He preferred cutting up and chatting than doing any work. He admitted, tho...

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