This is the story of Cuthbert, a five-year-old boy who visited
my school library
for twenty minutes every week.
My job was to teach him about the library.
I’m not sure what his job was.
But he was very good at it.
Once upon a time, I read “Hansel and Gretel” to a class of kindergarteners. The audience, sitting rapt at my feet, comprised sixteen exceptionally good listeners, a fact I later regretted.
While I read, Cuthbert sat on the floor beside my chair and stroked my panty-hose-clad shin. Small children find panty-hose fascinating.
When I reached, “And they lived happily ever after,” Cuthbert stopped stroking and tugged on my skirt. I ceded him the floor.
“But it’s a good thing, what the witch did.”
Because he spoke kindergartener-ese and I sometimes didn’t, I thought I had misunderstood. Come again?
“It’s really a good thing, what the witch did.”
I should have slammed the book shut right then, or pulled out the emergency duct tape, or something, anything to change the subject. But I’m not very smart, so I asked Cuthbert to elaborate.
His elaboration went like this:
When the witch prepared the hot oven to cook and then eat Hansel, she was doing a good thing. Because then Hansel would die and go to Heaven to be with God and Jesus.
I smiled a no doubt horrified smile and said something like But But But. While Cuthbert explained even more fully, I analyzed my options.
a) If I said, No, the witch did a bad thing, because it is not nice to cook and eat little boys and girls, then sixteen children would go home and report, Miss Kathy said it’s bad to go to Heaven and be with God and Jesus.
b) If I said, Yes, the witch did a good thing, because cooking and eating little boys and girls ensures their immediate transport Heavenward, then sixteen children would go home and report, Miss Kathy approves of cold-blooded murder and cannibalism. Plus witchcraft. Plus reading a book about a witch, which in our Great State is sometimes considered more damaging than the murder/cannibalism package.
c) Anything I said might be in complete opposition to what Cuthbert’s mother had told him on this topic, and he would report that to her, and then I would get to attend a conference that wouldn’t be nearly so much fun as it sounds.
Note: The last sentence under b) is not to be taken literally. It is sarcasm, and richly deserved. The earlier reference to emergency duct tape is hyperbole. I’ve never duct taped a child.
Well, anyway, I wish I could say the sky opened and a big light bulb appeared above my head and gave me words to clean up this mess. But I don’t remember finding any words at all, at least sensible ones. I think I babbled and stammered until the teacher came to repossess her charges.
I do remember Cuthbert was talking when he left the room. There’s no telling what his classmates took away from that lesson.
If I’d been in my right mind, I might have said something to the effect that God and Jesus don’t like it when witches send people to Heaven before they’re expected.
But the prospect of talking theology with this independent thinker froze my neural pathways.
And anyway, it took all the energy I had to keep from laughing.
“Hansel and Gretel and Cuthbert and Me” appeared on this blog in 2011 and again in 2012. I repost because Halloween cries out for scary stories, and when it happened, this was pretty darned scary.
The discussion about fairy tales and religion took place twenty years ago. I think about it often and feel lucky I’ve never had a nightmare about it. But I remember Cuthbert fondly for giving me both the worst and the best day of my career. He was a cute little boy.
9 thoughts on “Hansel and Gretel and Cuthbert and Me”
Poor little Cuthbert. Poor you!! Hilarious story, though. Thanks!
Cuthbert was a force of nature. He also shared some information about birthing babies–said his mother told him–but because of its questionable nature, I don’t repeat it.
Precious. And terrifying on a variety of levels. After I’d been teaching awhile, I decided saying,” Hmm, that’s an interesting way to look at it,” could get me out of a lot of tough situations.
I wish I’d had your wisdom. I taught forever and never got out of stammer mode.
Kathy, call me 512 924 5658. I don’t have good phone numbers for you.
When I first started teaching, I taught primary school children and also had the strange experience of having my panty hose AND my shoes stroked while I was reading. Such interesting and sweet little people, aren’t they?
I taught high school for 15 years before being thrust into the world of primary/elementary school, so I wasn’t accustomed to having my legs massaged. One of many new experiences, most of them positive, or at least fodder for blog posts at a later date. K and 1 are sweet and interesting and funny and actually taught me something about dealing with certain elderly family members. I passed the secret along to their children.
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I hope no one ever has to use the secret on me.
I ended up teaching high school for almost 25 years—thankfully no one there tried to touch my pantyhose!
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