Pink Balloons and Letting Go

I was buried deep inside my coat closet, enmeshed in an attempt to create order from chaos when I was interrupted by the phone. Rabbi K., my son Yanky’s day school principal, summarily requested my presence in his office.

Frustrated, I climbed out from the depths. Why can’t we just deal with whatever it is over the phone? I wondered. While I drove, I worried.

Rabbi K. greeted me, grim-faced, closed his office door, and began, “Yanky approached a teacher with a pencil and said he would poke her eye out.”

I gulped, agreeing this was unacceptable behavior. We, the parents, would certainly deal with this, I assured Rabbi K.