The next morning, I walked into the classroom, clutching the pie I’d baked. My heart was pounding, but I was determined to stand up for my son. When the teacher saw me, she looked confused. I told her what my son had said — that he wasn’t allowed to bring a dish because we were “the poor family.” Her eyes widened in disbelief.
She gently shook her head. “Oh, no. That’s not what happened,” she said. “We decided as a class that your son would be our guest of honor. The kids wanted to surprise him with all their favorite dishes because he always shares his snacks with everyone.” My words caught in my throat. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.
