"I never though a simple pencil would mean so much to me."

Dear Don,

I received my order of pencils, and I am very happy with them. Of course, I really like the Rhodia. I would like to order a box of them when they come in.

I taught English classes to children at the junior high, senior high, and college levels for about thirty years. Every once in a while when shopping, I would come across some high quality pencils, I would buy a box and then display it proudly on my desk at school.

Whenever I had to sign a hall pass or tardy slip, I would reach for the box and pull one of the pencils out with such flair and drama, everyone in the class would turn their eyes to me to see what I was up to. Invariably, one of my students would ask what kind of pencil I had, and I would cup my hands together at my lips and project an echoing whisper out to the class, “Magic. It’s a magic pencil.”

Reactions were always varied, but whether it was a college class or seventh graders, I always got responses. Some were moans, some were smiles, but always, everyone was interested. There develops in every child, and matures in every adult who was once a child, an interest in pencils. Strange, isn’t it?

When I was teaching, the magic pencils would always mysteriously vanish. (After all, they are magic.) When you purchase a pencil, you have to accept the fact that you will pay for it, but you will never own it. Vanishing mysteriously is a character flaw that is just in the nature of being a pencil.  They’re like a stray dog that will tag after the last person who shows them the slightest interest.

After a few years of teaching, I recognized that the pencils would be much more valuable if I took control of their fortunes. As I would walk up and down the rows of students writing compositions, sometimes one student might stand out as having an especially difficult day, crumbling up paper after paper or just simply staring down at the blank page. I would offer suggestions and encouragement, and if nothing seemed to work, I would ask them to stop by my desk as they were leaving. The last student leaving the classroom on those days would always be smiling, smiling broadly and clutching a magic pencil that he firmly believed would make his homework easy.

I retired about eight years ago when I was age fifty. Of course, I did not want to retire so young. One day when I was teaching, I had to laugh at myself when I couldn’t remember a favorite student’s name. In fact, everyone in the class laughed at me. Because our school was so small, this was perhaps the fourth or fifth class that I taught these students, and it seemed so stupid that I could not remember my favorite’s name.

A long story short—within a few months, I could not remember the names of any of them, and I was hospitalized with a bizarre neurological disorder that I have lived with these last seven or eight years.

One of the anomalies of this rare condition is that for the first three or four years I couldn’t move my arms with out risking a seizure. I have continual improved, quite slowly, and every day I am a little bit better.

Don, I read your note on my invoice that I chose a nice variety of pencils. I am writing this long note to let you know your pencils and you are a part of a celebration. You see, I have gone for almost eight years without the ability to hold a pencil. Recently, I had a dramatic improvement and I can now hold a pencil and write for the first time in almost a decade, and that is full cause for celebration with first-class, highest quality, eye-catching, smooth as a baby’s butt, jumping-up-and-down-joyous, GLORIOUS PENCILS.

Sir, I do love your high quality pencils. I do love them. I never though a simple pencil would mean so much to me.

Thank you,

Christopher K----- Northwood, Ohio

Published by permission  |  Don Bell, Proprietor