When a person says, “I broke my foot,” the story that follows should have some adventure in it. But my story? Just walking across a street carrying a box? Sadly without any adventure whatsoever.
So yesterday, on my way to work, I invented a number of stories to tell my students about how it happened:
“It was the weirdest thing–I saw a bus on fire, and it was carrying 80 orphans and 400 dogs and cats, and I rescued them all, single-handedly, breaking my foot just as the bus exploded.”
“Funny you ask. I was actually bungee jumping with my friend and the guy didn’t secure my ankles correctly and my foot snapped.”
“I was walking downtown and this man stopped me and told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and then his girlfriend hit me with her car.”
But my favorite of all of them was actually a little sixth grader’s innocent idea:
“Ms. Coggio, did you break your foot when you were trying to do a math problem?”
I told her yes, that the 7’s tables had always been a problem for me.
“Next time, Ms. Coggio, you should really call someone if you have trouble. Or use a calculator.”
I nodded and told her she was probably right.