Sugar  − September, 1994

It is customary, when teaching children under the age of six, to cram them all as closely together as possible. Presumbably, this allows the harried teacher to keep a close watch on her flock. In my opinion, they feel personal space breeds misbehavior. Which is certainly not something I'm going to argue.

About a decade and a half ago I found myself in one such situation, trapped in a mob of children dressed by their parents in bad ninetees clothes. Outfits that they wouldn't realize were such until much later on, of course. Our teacher, Michelle, a younger woman with a gentle face, read aloud to us as we surrendered our attention. I, who loved nothing more than a good story, was the most transfixed of them all. So no one was more surprised than I was when Lauren, a delightful young lady with miles of sandy brown hair, fell upon me and kissed me on the mouth. She was gone before I really knew what had happened, and was brought to tears with embarrasment (her, not me). The teacher had a talk with her and she apologized.

I told her I didn't understand why she was apologizing.