Part 5: The School Project

In October, Theo and Mae's class began a project about family stories. The teacher sent home a note explaining that students could include relatives, friends, neighbors, or anyone important to them. No one had to share a private detail with the class.

Nora asked whether I wanted to help the children prepare, provided I followed their lead. We met at the library on a Saturday. Theo brought a photograph of the community center's old footbridge. Mae carried a box of colored pencils and the tree drawing from the exhibition.

“I want to add a branch,” she said. “But I don't know where it goes.”

“Where would you like it?” Nora asked.

“Maybe beside the birds.”

Theo shook his head. “Birds aren't people.”

“They can be in a drawing,” Mae replied.

I watched them debate. I had expected the blank branch to become a space for my name. Mae was deciding whether to add a branch for a bird's nest. The realization made me laugh at myself.

“What?” she asked.

“I thought you were talking about me.”

“You can have a branch too,” she said. “But the robin needs a home.”

We drew a new branch for the nest and left another space for anything she might want to add later. Theo wrote a sentence about the footbridge, explaining that neighbors had repaired it together after a storm. He wanted to interview one of the volunteers who had helped.

I offered to call the volunteer. Nora suggested that Theo ask the librarian for help composing the message so the request would come from him. He did. The volunteer agreed to visit the class and bring a photograph of the repairs.

While the children worked, Nora and I discussed the support arrangement our attorneys had drafted. I wanted the payments to be predictable and separate from visits. Nora asked that the children's education funds be managed transparently and that neither parent use money to influence their choices. The attorneys would review the details before anything was finalized.

At the end of the afternoon, Theo asked why my father had not passed on the letters. Nora and I had anticipated the question. We had agreed to answer honestly without turning a seven-year-old into a judge.

“He made a decision that was wrong,” I said. “I don't know every reason he made it. Your mother did try to tell me about you, and I didn't receive her letters.”

“Are you mad at him?”

“Yes. I'm also sad. People can love someone and still recognize that they did something hurtful.”

Theo thought about that. “Like when my friend broke my bridge and said it was an accident?”

“Something like that. The important part is what people do after they understand the harm.”

On the way out, Mae held the door for a family carrying a stroller. I thanked her, and she pointed to the robin on her drawing.

“He has a home now,” she said.

“Does he have a name?”

“Not yet. He gets to decide when he's ready.”

I put the sketchbook in her bag without bending the pages. We walked to the corner together, where Nora's sister waited to take them home. Before leaving, Theo asked if we could test a new bridge design next weekend. I said yes and wrote it on my calendar as soon as I reached the car.