I have been a primary school teacher for many years now. Throughout my career there have been incidents in the classroom that have impacted me — more so than my students. One experience I remember as if it happened just yesterday.

David was a student with some major learning difficulties — he struggled with most areas of the curriculum. He was often covered in mud from playing outside and he was always the last to be chosen for teams. Few children would willingly work with him or play with him.

During lunch and snack times, the other children in the class often swapped treasures or treats their parents had packed in their lunch boxes. I had never seen anyone swap anything with David. As often happens, David’s frustrations and feelings of rejection often led to misbehavior in the classroom.

One day I had to talk to him about some unacceptable behavior. After our “chat” David returned to his desk, and I continued to work with the students that were currently with me. At first, I didn’t notice David come up beside me. Before I had the chance to say anything, David asked, “Do you like tomatoes?”

I replied rather tersely, “Yes, David but…” Before I could say one more word, David quickly turned and went back to his seat and continued with his work. I could not fathom the reason for his strange question and decided David was just trying to avoid his work. I dismissed the incident and turned back to my group.

Lunch time came. David waited behind, after all the other children had gone out to play, and slipped quietly up to my desk where I was trying to get some marking done before going for my own lunch break. “Please…” I looked up and saw a scruffy little boy with mud on his shoes. His hair was ruffled, his shirt hanging out, his nose running and tear tracks ran down his cheeks. His big brown eyes looked up at me with a longing for acceptance that I had not seen before. It was then that David said, “I’ve got this for you.”

There in his grubby little hand was a tiny, rather squashed, cherry tomato. Tears came to my eyes as I realized that David was really hurting and needed, more than anything else, to know that I cared for him. He needed to know that my love and concern for him was not based on his looks, his behavior, or his scholastic performance. In his own little way, David was attempting to restore our relationship by giving the only thing he had to give. I drew David into my arms and gave him the hug he was so desperate to receive. I took his little gift into my hand and through my own tears said, “David that’s the best gift I’ve had today… Thank you.”

One little cherry tomato and one little boy’s willingness to give it up to restore a relationship. David could have given up on our relationship. In his determination to cover his hurt and rejection, he could have become even more difficult or “switched off.” But instead, David gave that rather unusual gift — the only thing he had — his special lunch time treat.

David made me think. How often do we, as teachers, say or do things that can have a lasting effect on the children we teach? How often in the busy pace of a school day, do we miss occasions when we need to listen with our hearts and see the real needs of the children in our care? I wish I could say that David’s academic scores improved rapidly, that the other children became more accepting of him, and that his behavior improved. But those things didn’t happen. However, David often stayed behind at lunch time and we had some great times together. Sometimes we would just sit and talk and other times listen to music on the tape recorder. As I worked, David would draw pictures.

David taught me a great lesson that day and I will always remember “The Lesson of the Little Tomato.”

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Lynne Graham, Australia email: grahamlc@ozemail.com.au

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Lynne Graham lives in Melbourne, Australia and has been teaching for 25

years. She lives with her dog, Rusty, and her cat, Oscar. Lynne confides

that she is allergic to tomatoes!

– Lynne Graham