An Apple For My Teacher

Whenever my mother bought apples, she rinsed and polished them until they shone, then artfully arranged them in a bowl. It was a simple gesture, but she loved the ritual of honoring the fruit, and of making it special for all of us. I was too little to see the act as Zen meets art, but I read it on her face. And was always mesmerized by the faraway dreaminess in her eyes, and in her smile.

I wanted to be able to make apples shine—gleam actually—like hers. Especially since, as first graders, a lot of us used to take shiny red apples to our favorite teachers. So one day, I stood by our kitchen window and polished and rubbed the biggest red apple we had. Even with the sunlight pouring in on it, mine looked just all right. And even when I tried harder, it didn't measure up to my mother's.

So I gave up on her method—and polished it with shoe wax instead! I spread the thick, waxy mixture around on the apple, then buffed it like a pair of boots. Finally it looked as perfect as my mother's. With a huge sigh of relief, I wrapped it in plastic wrap. Tied the clingy fountain of plastic at the top with a little bow of yarn. Then proudly viewed my work of art.

And then? Without showing it to anyone, I threw it away. I mean really, would you have given your teacher an apple with shoe wax on it?

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