fine.”
At least half of the riders got off the bus with me. Most were boys, who looked at me funny, but no one said a word.
I overheard that the fourth-grade class was on the second floor, so I navigated up stairwells and down unfamiliar hallways until I found myroom. I was barely inside when someone said, “There she is.” Before I took two more steps, I was surrounded by a group of frowning boys.
“What’s your name?” one asked.
I told him.
“What kind of last name is that?” The boy wrinkled his nose, looking me dead in the eyes.
“The only one I got.” An unfamiliar knot formed in my stomach. I’d been to new schools before, but this one seemed awfully unfriendly.
A girl with a kind face, old-fashioned clothes, and a small bonnet covering her head stood at the outer edge of the group of boys, watching. My first thought was that the school was going to have a play about pilgrims. But it seemed odd to have a play on the first day of school.
A boy moved his head, blocking my view of the girl. “Frank said you ride on his bus.”
I wondered who Frank was.
“He said your dad ain’t a farmer. Everybody around here owns or works a dairy farm.”
I shrugged. “My dad works in DC and drives back and forth.”
“DC?” the boy mocked.
The squeals of laughter made the teacher glance up from his desk. “Settle down. You have three minutes before you need to take your seats. Make sure you have pencil and paper ready.”
The boy lowered his voice and moved in closer. “So why’d your dad buy all that land with barns and fences if he don’t intend to farm?”
“It’s a hobby farm … I think.”
The whispery scoffs spoke louder than the boys dared to. “Every one of us has been up since four this morning doing chores. Farming ain’t no hobby.”
The girl with the bonnet pressed forward, and the group parted, much as I’d imagined the Red Sea parting for the Israelites. “I think you guys are coming on a bit strong, no?”
“We’re just asking questions.”
“Would your mother want you talking to her that way?” The girl’s voice was soft, as if cooing to an infant rather than standing up to a bunch of rowdy kids. A couple of the boys moved to their desks and sat down. Others asked a few more mocking questions, and the girl repeated herself, never raising her voice: “Would your mother want you talking to her that way?” She took me by the hand and led me to the back of the room, where it was quiet. The boys kept a wary eye on us as they walked to their desks.
“They don’t mean to sound so rude.” She slowly lifted her eyes to mine. “That’s what my mom says anyway.”
I was struck by the kindness in her eyes, the oddity of her speech patterns, and how smart she was.
She introduced herself as Luann. I later learned that her bonnet was a prayer Kapp and that she was an Amish Mennonite. Her father wasn’t a dairy farmer either. So she was used to being treated as different and odd, and she seemed perfectly comfortable not fitting in with those around her.
I learned a lot that day about being soft-spoken but not silent, about responding calmly and yet saying all that needs to be said. And I learned that it takes only one person to make a new beginning feel hopeful.
W ORK E THIC
Study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you.
— 1 T HESSALONIANS 4:11
From Miriam
As I think back on my childhood years, I remember the aromas of baking day—breads, cakes, shoofly pies, fruit pies, cinnamon rolls, cookies, and whoopie pies. I often worked side by side with my mother and my four sisters as each week we baked goods, mostly to sell from our roadside stand in the front yard.
Mother’s hands were constantly busy. Besides raising a family, she always had an occupation in the home to help make ends meet. I spent hours playing with the children she baby-sat, picking strawberries with her, and plucking the feathers of chickens
At least half of the riders got off the bus with me. Most were boys, who looked at me funny, but no one said a word.
I overheard that the fourth-grade class was on the second floor, so I navigated up stairwells and down unfamiliar hallways until I found myroom. I was barely inside when someone said, “There she is.” Before I took two more steps, I was surrounded by a group of frowning boys.
“What’s your name?” one asked.
I told him.
“What kind of last name is that?” The boy wrinkled his nose, looking me dead in the eyes.
“The only one I got.” An unfamiliar knot formed in my stomach. I’d been to new schools before, but this one seemed awfully unfriendly.
A girl with a kind face, old-fashioned clothes, and a small bonnet covering her head stood at the outer edge of the group of boys, watching. My first thought was that the school was going to have a play about pilgrims. But it seemed odd to have a play on the first day of school.
A boy moved his head, blocking my view of the girl. “Frank said you ride on his bus.”
I wondered who Frank was.
“He said your dad ain’t a farmer. Everybody around here owns or works a dairy farm.”
I shrugged. “My dad works in DC and drives back and forth.”
“DC?” the boy mocked.
The squeals of laughter made the teacher glance up from his desk. “Settle down. You have three minutes before you need to take your seats. Make sure you have pencil and paper ready.”
The boy lowered his voice and moved in closer. “So why’d your dad buy all that land with barns and fences if he don’t intend to farm?”
“It’s a hobby farm … I think.”
The whispery scoffs spoke louder than the boys dared to. “Every one of us has been up since four this morning doing chores. Farming ain’t no hobby.”
The girl with the bonnet pressed forward, and the group parted, much as I’d imagined the Red Sea parting for the Israelites. “I think you guys are coming on a bit strong, no?”
“We’re just asking questions.”
“Would your mother want you talking to her that way?” The girl’s voice was soft, as if cooing to an infant rather than standing up to a bunch of rowdy kids. A couple of the boys moved to their desks and sat down. Others asked a few more mocking questions, and the girl repeated herself, never raising her voice: “Would your mother want you talking to her that way?” She took me by the hand and led me to the back of the room, where it was quiet. The boys kept a wary eye on us as they walked to their desks.
“They don’t mean to sound so rude.” She slowly lifted her eyes to mine. “That’s what my mom says anyway.”
I was struck by the kindness in her eyes, the oddity of her speech patterns, and how smart she was.
She introduced herself as Luann. I later learned that her bonnet was a prayer Kapp and that she was an Amish Mennonite. Her father wasn’t a dairy farmer either. So she was used to being treated as different and odd, and she seemed perfectly comfortable not fitting in with those around her.
I learned a lot that day about being soft-spoken but not silent, about responding calmly and yet saying all that needs to be said. And I learned that it takes only one person to make a new beginning feel hopeful.
W ORK E THIC
Study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you.
— 1 T HESSALONIANS 4:11
From Miriam
As I think back on my childhood years, I remember the aromas of baking day—breads, cakes, shoofly pies, fruit pies, cinnamon rolls, cookies, and whoopie pies. I often worked side by side with my mother and my four sisters as each week we baked goods, mostly to sell from our roadside stand in the front yard.
Mother’s hands were constantly busy. Besides raising a family, she always had an occupation in the home to help make ends meet. I spent hours playing with the children she baby-sat, picking strawberries with her, and plucking the feathers of chickens
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