Friday, February 03, 2006

Scissors

Back in the day one of my favorite teachers, Ms. M, used to tell us stories about her son. "Tell us a Brent story!" we'd say, hoping she'd let us procrastinate a little. Brent was a kid who got into so much mischief and was such a little character that she always had something new for us.

I remember one time she told us that she overheard him with the cat in the other room saying, "Come here kitty kitty, I want to cut your whiskers off." Thinking that he was just playing, she didn't investigate immediately. And then the cat came running out of the room, completely whiskerless.

Because of the the Brent stories, I was totally prepared today when Fiona came downstairs and said, "Mommy, do whiskers grow?" I knew. I knew that poor Ellis had been de-whiskered. "Why do you ask, Fiona? Is there something you need to tell me?"

"No," she said, "I'm just wondering if they grow."

"Tell me the truth. I'm going to know when Ellis comes down here anyway, did you cut off Ellis's whiskers?"

"Will you get mad at me if I tell you?"

"I'll tell you never to do that again since Ellis needs his whiskers."

"Well, maybe I cut off just a couple of his whiskers."

"A couple?"

"Well, maybe a few."

"Does Ellis have any whiskers left?"

Just then, Ellis came into the room, with 80% fewer whiskers than he had at the start of the day. Fiona looked at him and obviously felt bad. "I'm sorry Ellis. I didn't mean to cut your whiskers off."

If only I had a classroom, I would have the best Brent stories.