Correct the story

Note to self

Maryam was working on an artwork for her teacher and went to the bin to throw something away. She came back upset. When I asked what happened, the words came through tears: “Mama threw my forest drawing.” Seeing her older work in the bin had made her so sad that she threw away the new artwork she was working on.

We walked back to the bin together. I looked inside and saw the forest drawing. I was the one who had thrown it away.

There was a brief pause inside me. I could let her believe it was Saniha, or I could tell her the truth. The easy thing would have been silence. Letting her assume it was her mother. Letting the moment pass. Instead, I told her it was me.

She glared at me at first, then softened. I think she had expected this from her mother, and that expectation carried more weight. With me, something eased. She looked at me carefully, still hurt, but calmer.

I tried to explain. “If we saved every school drawing, our house would be full of paper.” She didn’t respond, so I went on. “You’d open the cereal cupboard and drawings would fall out.” She stayed quiet. “You’d climb into bed and there would be paper everywhere.” I smiled and said, “We’d have to swim through paper just to leave the house.” She laughed.

Then I showed her the forest drawing again. “Do you see your name is missing?” I asked. She looked closer. “Why did you cut it out?” I told her that name is sacred to us, because it belongs to the mother of Prophet Jesus, and we treat it accordingly.

She hugged me tightly.

Tell the truth early. Repair gently. And notice how quickly love returns when a child feels seen.