Yesterday, I picked up Collin from his Sunday school class. His teacher greeted me at the door with a concerned look on her face. She whispered, "The head teacher wants to talk to you."
My heart sank as I imagined every possible reasons why the head teacher needed my attention. Was Collin wildly disobedient? Did he perform some hideous shenanigan in the classroom? I began to sweat as the head teacher approached.
She bore the same grave expression as the first teacher and hesitated before she spoke. "You see," she began. "We had an incident."
Oh no, I thought. Here it comes.
"Collin, well, he got bit. I'm so sorry," she murmured.
My teeth unclenched and I almost smiled. Of course, I felt bad for Collin but a wee bit grateful that he was the victim and not the perpetrator. How much nicer it is to play the role of the victim's mom!