just what it looks like

just what it looks like

P

eaches wanted to know what it had been like at work.

I had only filled in as an assistant in an elementary school classroom for the first afternoon of two, but the novelty of my working outside of the home at all had proven intriguing to varying degrees to The Three.

“Oh yeah,” said Marcel, who had forgotten about it entirely, “how was your substitute thing?

My substitute thing had been good, I told them, especially if one equated job performance in terms of how few children were sent home on the wrong bus—which I, for one, do. As my number on everyone’s first day of school had been zero, I felt the day had been an unmitigated success.

“You have to make sure that every last person is safely on the bus before you can leave,” I explained. “And you don’t even know from hot until you’ve stood out on the asphalt waiting for those buses to go.”

Peaches considered this and then told me that what I needed was a fan. She descended to her newly established work room in the garage (more on that later) and emerged with what you see before you.

The next day, I told some of the students on the playground about the fan my daughter had made for me. In the end, though, I left it in the car. It seemed like an embarrassment of riches, you know? I didn’t want to make the other teachers jealous.