The Red Shoe

     It was my first graduating class from the continuation school I taught at. I was really tough on my students, after all some of them had been kicked out of numerous schools and were severly behind. And, of course, I thought it was up to me to teach them all a lesson or two. Or ten. 

    Gabby, a very vibrant and bright African-American student, sashayed her way over to me limping. She was that student that always seemed to get mad at me for giving her a zero for class participation because her comments were either invalid, irrelevant or just plain wrong. I pushed her to find evidence to her learning. I also pushed her to bring a binder with her everyday to school.

    As she limped over to me and my parents, she said, " I ...I... am trying to ....get.... this out...." . As she was saying this she was pointing to her bottom and acted as if she was really  'pulling something out'.
    I thought she had sat on something. But no, she continued to struggle with what she was trying to pull out from under her royal blue gown.  Then she pulled out one red high heeled shoe.  Yes , a shoe. She talked as if she had just been kicked in the butt by a bull. "Mamma D., here..this shoe is for you." I laughed and I was totally confused. My dad asked, "Hey, why are you giving her your shoe?". "OH, IT'S NOT MINE!" she laughed, "It's the shoe Mama D would kick my ass with."
     Then she kissed me, and gave me the best hug a student could give and gave my forehead a blessing. She walked away, and my parents and I laughed with such pride. I still have that red shoe.