Papa always said that. Whatever we were making was always going to be the best in Chevron
I ran down the path. The mud had dried by now, and my hair flapped against the back of my head, my schoolbag swinging at my side. Free at last.
“Mama,” I gasped, plopping my schoolbag down on the table and pulling out the thick white card from among the books. “Look!”
Mama put down the broom and reached for the card in my hand. “We got our report cards!” I exclaimed. “And see,” I opened it and pointed to a little line on the bottom that read “promoted to third grade.” “And look how well I did, even though we only got here in the middle of the year! Do you see, Mama? Do you?”
Mama laughed and smoothed my hair down against my head. “You did wonderfully, Elka,” she smiled. “I’m so proud of you.”
This one’s in print. Some of our best stories live in the magazine — subscribe to get Mishpacha every week.
