My teacher held up a piece of broken glass and asked, "Who broke this window?"
Thirty boys tried to think about not only what they had done, but also what our teacher may have found out. She seldom became angry, but she was this time.
"Oh," I thought. I was the one who broke the window. It was caused by a naughty throw of a baseball. If I admitted guilt, I would be in a lot of trouble. How would I be able to pay for a big window like that? I didn't even get an allowance. "My father is going to have a fit." I thought. I didn't want to raise my hand, but some force much stronger than I was pulled it skyward. I told the truth. "I did it." It was hard enough to say what I had.
My teacher took down a book from one of our library shelves and I had never known my teacher to strike a student, but I feared she was going to start with me.
"I know how you like bird," she said as she stood looking down at my guilt-ridden face. "Here is that field guide about birds that you are constantly checking out. It is yours now. It's time we got a new one for the school anyway. You will not be punished as long as you remember that I am not rewarding you for your misdeed, I am rewarding you for your truthfulness."
I couldn't believe it! I wasn't being punished and I was getting my own bird field guide—the very one that I had been saving up money to buy.
All that remains of that day is my memory and the lesson my teacher taught me. That lesson stays with me every day, and it will echo forever.
