A few days ago, as I was passing back sign-out cards to a class of second graders, a boy named Frankie raised his hand. "What is it Frankie?" I asked.
He pointed to a spot on the table. "Something's on the table." I took a closer look. Something certainly was. The spot was about the size of a quarter, round, purple and looked like wet ink.
"Okay," I said. "As soon as I finish passing back these cards I'll take care of it. Meanwhile, just don't touch it!" I warned him. He nodded.
A few minutes later, the boy sitting across from Frankie -- a kid named Anthony --- called out. "Mrs. Michel, look at Frankie!" I looked. The purple spot was now a large purple smear that he'd managed to spread all over the tabletop. In addition, his top and his hands were covered in purple ink -- or whatever it was.
"Frankie! Why did you do that? I told you not to touch it."
He looked down and shrugged. "I was trying to help. " I sent him to the bathroom to wash his hands and took out my trusty bottle of Fantastik and cleaned the table. I blamed myself. I should have taken care of the purple spot before continuing with the cards. I should have known that a wet spot of purple ink was just too tempting for a seven and a half year old boy who was a little A.D.D.
It struck me later that sometimes a piece of writing can be a lot like a splot of purple ink. Sometimes the more we try to fix it, the worse we make it until we've turned the little problem into a big ugly smear.
