“A cheerful heart is good
medicine.” Proverbs 17:22 (NIV)
“…for the happy
heart, life is a continual feast.” Proverbs 15:15 (NLT)
This month we're adding a little
humour, asking our writers focus on the lighter side of their writing life.
* * *
The
following is a true story, written during my days as a Teacher Librarian. I’ve
changed a couple details to disguise the boys’ identities. And although I wrote
it in the form of a fairy tale, I saw the hand of God working in the
“coincidental” details.
A Tale of Two
Shoes
Part
1: Natif
Once upon a time a boy named Natif
came to our school and joined our Grade Two class. He was new to Canada, having
just immigrated with his family. One October day we had a heavy wet snowfall.
This was the first snow Natif had seen.
I was was on
supervision in the school’s entryway as Natif returned for the afternoon class.
Wet, large snowflakes clung to his black hair and jacket, and he scrunched his
body and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep warm.
“How do you like the snow, Natif?” I
asked.
“No like!” he said as he stomped his
feet to clear snow off his running shoes.
“Natif, you have new outdoor running
shoes,” I said. “They’re nice black and white ones.” He smiled proudly as he
took them off, set them on the rack and left for his classroom.
Snow
kept falling all afternoon.
Part
2: Grant
Now in the same school was a
ten-year-old boy, Grant, from the Special Ed class. At 3:15, the bell rang to
dismiss the students. Quickly the school emptied, and even most of the teachers
went home early to avoid rush hour traffic tie-ups. Because I lived close, I
wasn’t worried about my five-minute commute, and so stayed to finish up loose
ends.
I heard footsteps approach the library
where I was working: clunk, step; clunk, step; clunk step. Grant arrived, one large running shoe on one foot, one
sock on the other foot. “I can’t find my other outdoor running shoe!” he said, “Where’s
my shoe? I can’t go home until I find my running shoe!”
I hugged him. “You wore it to school,” I said, “so
it’s got to be around here somewhere.”
We searched his classroom. “Where’s my shoe? What
happened to my running shoe?” he asked again, more to himself than to me.
We searched my library where he had had a class
earlier that afternoon. No shoe. We searched through the lost and found box,
turning over all the gloves and shoes and boots and sweaters. No shoe. We
searched again—carefully—his classroom. No shoe. We searched everywhere but
could find no running shoe.
“But there’s another one…” Grant said,
leading me to the student entry way. He picked up a black and white running
shoe, exactly like his, but much smaller. And much newer. “I tried it on,” he
said, “but it didn’t fit. I can’t even get my foot in! Where’s my other running
shoe?”
Part
3: The fairy godmother
Just then the fairy godmother appeared
and waved her wand, sprinkling fairy dust over me. At once I made a connection.
I had seen smaller running shoes just like Grant’s that noon. Natif’s! He must
have picked up Grant’s shoe and gone home in the snow, one small shoe and one
large shoe.
Swish step,
swish step,
swish step.
I phoned Natif’s home. His older
brother Ali answered. “Has Natif come home yet?” I asked slowly, as Ali wasn’t
fluent in English yet.
There was a long pause, then Ali said,
“Yes, he home. Why?”
“Can you check his running shoes? Are
the two shoes the same?”
I waited.
He was laughing when he picked up the
phone. “Same shoes. One little, one big. And big one old!” Sure enough, Natif had gone home with Grant’s other shoe—and
he hadn’t even noticed. He quickly returned to school, and the boys switched
running shoes.
The
two boys left: Step, step; step, step; step, step
And so we all went home and lived happily ever after.
* * *
It was a delight to experience and
write this story, and I still have tender images of Grant, the perplexed boy
who couldn’t find his running shoe.
Now over to you. Tell about a humourous incident that
happened in relation to your writing life, or one you wrote about.
Alternatively, tell about how you use humour in your writing.
