Wild curls from mid-summer humidity. Dirt on my feet from the playground and a cherry Kool-Aid stain on my dress. I was in my element in preschool class at church.
Mrs. Weaver, her straight hair pulled neatly into a bun, gathered us around her. “Okay, children. Let’s sing that new song we learned last week. Remember?"
“Mommy, let’s color,” she would say and go get her plastic pencil box filled with crayons. I’d pull out construction paper or printer paper and other supplies and sit down at the table with her. She would stand or sit on her knees in the chair, lean on the table, and hold a worn-down crayon between chubby toddler fingers...
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