Stephanie Brandon, GPC Student

Tenderness

When I was twelve years old my teacher helped push me into one of the most memorable summers I have ever had. In a world of hatred I find it comforting to know that there are still many kind, loving people in this world. I often think about that summer and remember how wonderful it felt to accomplish the goals that were set by my teacher. For many people this summer assignment would have been as simple as riding a bike; however, I was terrified at the thought of providing two books reports for the beginning of the next school year.

I felt the tears pooling up in my eyes as I slowly skimmed down the long list of books desperately searching for a title that was already on the bookshelf at home. I knew that my father would not buy the books for me and borrowing from the public library was out of the question. According to my older brother our family had accrued some late charges that our parents refused to pay, therefore we could not re-new our card and ultimately give the library our new address. When the final bell sounded throughout the classrooms, I sat at my desk and mournfully began to pack my tattered backpack. Miss Gregory noticed me slowly packing my bag, and tenderly asked if there was something troubling me. As the tears sloshed down my cheeks, I told her that I didn’t know how I was going to be able get the books to complete the summer assignment. She patted my back and gave me a tissue to dry my tears. She suggested that I make out a list of the books that I already have at home, and she will pick two of them for me to read.

The next day I noticed the disappointment in Miss Gregory’s face when she read through the short list of books that I had scribbled before running to school that morning. Instead of circling two books, she told me that she would give the paper back to me on the following day. On the following afternoon, she returned the list of old books to me. At the bottom of the list she had added two titles along with their authors name, Judy Blume. Deeply confused I looked up at her, and saw her beautiful face beaming at me. From her metal desk drawer she pulled out a little paper bag with two used paperback books inside.

After my daily chores were completed I would hide in the big oak tree behind the shed to read the books Miss Gregory had given to me. While the fat chickens pecked the ground and the goats crunched on the tall grass I would work myself into the fork of the two limbs that would easily support my weight. The disgusting smell of the hen coupe would drift away as I became engulfed in the drama of the characters in It’s Not the End of the World and Blubber. Just before my parents came home from work, I would frantically run to the house and start cooking the evening meal. Once my evening chores were done, I would slide under my bed with the dust bunnies and the flashlight trying to read another chapter before falling to sleep.

The A+ that I received on the book reports proved to me that I could accomplish anything, even if it looks impossible in the beginning. I like to pull those two old and tattered books out of their shoe box to remember the tenderness Miss Gregory had when I feel the harsh weight of this world bearing down on me.