That morning, my hands trembled as I carried a freshly baked pie into my son’s classroom. I hadn’t slept much the night before, replaying his words over and over — that he wasn’t allowed to bring food to the school potluck because “we’re the poor family.” The thought of my child being singled out that way tore at me. I decided I couldn’t stay silent any longer. When the teacher saw me standing there, she looked puzzled, unaware that my heart was pounding harder than ever.
I told her what my son had said, expecting anger, pity, or excuses. Instead, her eyes widened with surprise, and she softly shook her head. “Oh no,” she said, “that’s not true at all.” She went on to explain that the class had actually planned a small surprise — my son was chosen to be the guest of honor because of his kindness. “He always shares his snacks,” she added. My breath caught. All this time, I had misunderstood.
