This story originally appeared on one of my old blogs,
with the link to a prompt at the top.
Abigail
Myra walked into the auditorium.
How many times in the past had she walked into this same auditorium with her first graders?
How many children had she taught over the years?
But tonight there would be no children in the auditorium; there would only be adults.
Myra, on the eve of her retirement, was about to be given an award for her years of service.
An award she knew she did not deserve, and all because of one single child, one little girl.
Abigail Davis.
The one child she had failed. No, she hadn't flunked her or left back; that wasn't done to first graders in that school.
Myra had failed Abigail as a teacher. True, she had been young and inexperienced then;it was her first year of teaching.
But was that an excuse?
Shame, as it had so many times before, rose in her at the memory of that year.
But it was shame she knew she deserved.
How many times had she shamed Abigail?
"Everyone else in the class has already learned to read."
"By now you should know the difference between b and d!"
And perhaps the unkindest, no, the cruelest words she had spoken to Abigail,
"Shame on you! You're not trying!"
Myra tried to quiet her conscience with the thought that at least she had never paddled Abigail.
But she could take no credit for that; corporal punishment was strictly prohibited.
She had, however, made her wear a dunce cap on several occasions. That was the item on her mental list that made Myra cringe the most.
Several years afterwards, Myra learned about dyslexia.
But it was too late to apologize to Abigail. Her family had moved to another state.
Myra often wondered how Abigail had turned out.
But she was never to know.
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