I cut my hand.
Not a big cut. Hardly noticeable, in fact. It was right on the back of my hand.
I did it several days ago, and the scab started coming off today. It was getting caught on everything. Who knew one little scabby edge could be so annoying?!?
So, during Language Arts, I ripped off the scab and went back to discussing the ethical issues found in The Giving Tree.
I'm teaching and talking and pointing and questioning and being all animated to keep their attention after lunch, which we all know is a battle, but to no avail.
Well, they were just staring at me.
In horror.
Turns out, little cuts on the back of your hand bleed a lot. The whole back of my hand, fingers and part of my pants were all bloody.
I've seen WWII footage with less blood.
In my head, I simply couldn't understand why they were not into this awesome lesson I'd developed. Meanwhile, in their heads, they were wondering why I hadn't died from blood-loss yet.
A little pressure from a tissue, and a lot of offers to get me (and for some reason themselves) a bandaide, and soon I was all fixed up.
And I certainly have learned not to take scabs for granted.
No comments:
Post a Comment