FOODFORTHOUGHT

THE HAND
Author Unknown
February 27, 2011

Thanksgiving Day was near. The first grade teacher gave her class a
fun assignment -- to draw a picture of something for which they were
thankful.

Most of the class might be considered economically disadvantaged, but
still many would celebrate the holiday with turkey and other
traditional goodies of the season. These, the teacher thought, would
be the subjects of most of her student's art. And they were.

But Douglas made a different kind of picture. Douglas was a different
kind of boy. He was the teacher's true child of misery, frail and
unhappy. As other children played at recess, Douglas was likely to
stand close by her side. One could only guess at the pain Douglas felt
behind those sad eyes.

Yes, his picture was different. When asked to draw a picture of
something for which he was thankful, he drew a hand. Nothing else.
Just an empty hand.

His abstract image captured the imagination of his peers. Whose hand
could it be? One child guessed it was the hand of a farmer, because
farmers raise turkeys. Another suggested a police officer, because the
police protect and care for people. Still others guessed it was the
hand of God, for God feeds us. And so the discussion went -- until the
teacher almost forgot the young
artist himself.

When the children had gone on to other assignments, she paused at
Douglas' desk, bent down, and asked him whose hand it was.

The little boy looked away and murmured, "It's yours, teacher."

She recalled the times she had taken his hand and walked with him here
or there, as she had the other students. How often had she said, "Take
my hand, Douglas, we'll go outside." Or, "Let me show you how to hold
your pencil." Or, "Let's do this together." Douglas was most thankful
for his teacher's hand.

Brushing aside a tear, she went on with her work.

The story speaks of more than thankfulness. It says something about
teachers teaching and parents parenting and friends showing
friendship, and how much it means to the Douglases of the world. They
might not always say thanks. But they'll remember the hand that
reaches out.

--
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