It was maybe the first time I was asked. First grade. Gerald Reed. He leaned toward me, only with his eyes, as not to be detected, and without words, raised his eyebrows as if they were questions. Being as naive as the red ruffles on favorite dress, I continued the conversation with a furrowed brow. He looked to the front of the class. Mrs. Bergstrom was writing something on the board. He mouthed the question. I shrugged my shoulders. He said it again without opening his lips. My cheeks began to ruffle in red, I really didn’t hear him. He decided to risk the whisper, (with the same success my mother had in church), and the whole class heard him ask, “Can you slip me the answer?” Mrs. Bergstrom turned to a sea of laughter and immediately told us to pass our papers forward. 

The questions change through the years, but we all find ourselves from time to time, looking for the quick fix. A fast solution. But it’s been the same since Washington Elementary, the only way out is through.  I don’t know if my answer would have been right for him. Sometimes it’s hard to know if it’s right for me. But I keep doing the work. And when I forget, I have the answer written on my heart, and on my wall, and it slips inside with a whisper. The answer is still, and again, love.