My Paper Bag

I got my paper bag in kindergarten like the other kids in my class. I cut out holes for eyes to match my teacher’s and decorated it with shiny plastic chips and Elmer’s glue. Each of our bags looked different, some plain, some covered in scribbled shapes and the whispers of letters we had learned, some dripping wet, but all were “Precious, no matter what,” I heard our teacher say as we set them on the drying rack before we left for the day.

I had to stay home the next day, stomach bug, I think. My mom brought me saltines and soup, and she sang to me of healing love while I nibbled and sipped. I told her about my bag and how I picked red and gold glitter and nothing else because those were my favorite colors. She brushed her hand on my cheek. “It will be precious,” she said as she took my bowl. “Now get some rest, my baby. Tomorrow’s a big day.” As she walked out, she began to hum a tune I had heard all my life.

When I got to school the next day, my teacher stood holding my bag at the door to our class. Handing it to me, still somehow damp as if it didn’t know that yesterday happened, my teacher beamed, “Adam, this is the best part!” Opening the bag above my head, she whispered, “Now let me help you put it on.” I peered into my classroom to see the other kids, all sitting on the rug with their bags on their heads. Anxious, I looked up into the dark opening to see two cones of light. I took a deep breath as I pulled the bag down onto my head and tried to adjust the eye holes, but I cut them too wide and had to pick one to see out of. I fumbled over to my cubby, dropped in my lunch box and backpack, and made my way to my spot on the rug.

“I’m going to teach you a song,” my teacher declared, grabbing the tambourine that was next to the Coke can on her desk. She sat in the small chair at the front of our rug and began to hum the same tune I had heard my mom humming the day before. “It goes like this: ‘We all belong to Him/As long as we wear our bags/We can run and play and we’ll laugh all day/As long as we wear our bags.’’” She hummed the tune and sang the verse again. “Now here’s the second verse: ‘We never take them off/As long as we are alive/We can run and play and we’ll laugh all day/But we’ll never take them off/No we’ll never take them off/No I’ll never take mine off/No I’ll never take mine off.’” We sang the song five times before she shook her tambourine to let us know that song time was over. “Now go take your seats,” she instructed. “Snack helpers, please pass out what you’ve brought for everyone.” Everyone fiddled with their bags as they rose from the rug, careful to keep their bags.

The kid I was pretty sure was my best friend Eric thanks to being the only kid in my class with light-up shoes that only lit up on the left foot got up to pass out the snack his mom packed. After he dropped a pack of Sunkist raisins on our desks, he took his seat, and I knew it was him. His bag had three eye holes, one above the other in the center of his face. He had to have a harder time seeing than I did, but he didn’t seem to mind. For my part, I struggled to find the tiny box on my desk, so without thinking, I pulled my bag off to see better. The girl across from me shot her hand up while shouting, “Mrs. Yarborough, Adam took his bag off!” My teacher walked over to me, motioning for me to put my bag back on. When I hesitated, she simply said, “No I’ll never take mine off.”