Tam pulled Evan out of school Monday. When she walked him into the classroom that morning she found a half-dead semiwarm body called a substitute standing at the door. No hello. No smile. Just a dour face.
By noon, thinking back on what she'd seen, Tam went and collected Evan after lunch and brought him home early. Good thing. She found the classroom doing nothing but being scoulded by the old sub.
So, instead, Ev came home, did some math and then did something very few people are able to do anymore: He wrote a letter. He hand wrote a letter, hand addressed the envelope, and plastered the stamp in the top right corner. How great is that? Not only a writing lesson but instruction in a dying art, a skill few of his contemporaries will ever know, let alone use. The thing was so cute I'm going to have to ask him to write to me.
I miss getting letters so much. I don't miss mean substitute teachers.
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