The writing on the wall.

Reed came home the other day. “I have to tell you something, Mom,” he said. He looked very serious. He went on to tell me about a scandalous happening at his school. Someone wrote on the girls’ bathroom walls. Graffiti. Graffiti Art, as Max calls it. (Should I be concerned?)

The school buzzed. The teachers talked to the kids about the evils of property destruction. And a girl in his class told Reed that she knew who did it. She saw someone go into the bathroom with a writing utensil.

So, Reed asked, should I tell the teacher I know who did it? Since I so recently did my public duty and served on a jury, I was in a particularly good place to explain that hearsay is not admissible in court. So we talked about it and together decided that his information was probably not valid and that I would casually mention this all to the mother of the girl who had information (he was concerned I didn’t make a big deal out of it). I sent her an email and casually asked if she knew about the situation. Being the troop leader of the girl scouts, of course she did. Those girls can talk!

I was feeling pretty darn proud that Reed was so concerned about public property. This whole thing provided a great opportunity for conversation. Always good.

Okay, that was a few days back. Yesterday, at the Halloween Parade, I ran into that other mom. She asked me if I knew what the graffiti said. What a funny question, I thought. But I answered that I had no idea. So she told me. I would post it here, but a wise 13-year-old girl told me recently about the how distressing and embarrasing it is when parents say these sorts of things in public. So if you want to know, drop me a line!