Third-grader
Remi was concluding the day with her “Star of the Week” presentation. It’s a
prolonged show-and-tell in which the children take turns revealing themselves
to their classmates via poster, photographs, drawings, and personal artifacts.
There
were photos of Remi as a baby and others at various ages, with family members,
and at different vacation spots.
“This is
my dog,” Remi said, pulling a stuffed animal out of a tote bag. “And look, she
has puppies,” unzipping four smaller stuffed animals from the mother dog’s
stomach. Remi also talked about a purple plush carry-all bought for her in
Italy by her musician father.
“And here
is my favorite,” she said, holding up a locket on a ribbon. “It was my great
grandma’s.” She opened the locket. “This is a spot for a small photo of
me, but I didn’t put one in yet.”
I was
standing next to Athan, one of her classmates, during this part of the
presentation. He motioned for me to lean over so that he could say something.
When I did, he whispered conspiratorially, “Sometimes when two people are in
love, they put photos of each other in the locket.”
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