Kismet

Kismet

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” said Mrs. Sanders to the small child standing in front of her.

The small child burst into tears.

Mrs. Sanders quickly dropped down to his level, “It’s OK. We’ll find where you are supposed to be,” she said softly.

The boy looked up at her.

“Who is your teacher?” she asked.

He thought for a minute, then burst into tears again whispering, “I don’t know...”

Realizing panic was taking over she asked, “What is your name?”

More tears, “I... don’t...know...” a bit louder.

It was open house at the school, there were people and kids everywhere. Being the librarian, Mrs. Sanders didn’t get too many visitors.

“OK,” she said, softly, “did you come with your Mommy or Daddy?”

“I don’t know...”

Looking for the parents would be chaos and the boy was obviously terrified. Finally, she decided to stay in the library with him, and try to get the parents to come there.

She sat him in a chair with a cookie telling him it would help his head remember. Then she got on the loud speaker and called through the school

“Boy, brown hair, blue eyes, black pants and striped shirt. In the library.” His parents were there in two minutes!

Billy, a first grader then, grew up remembering that moment. From then on, whenever he forgot something he ate a cookie, to remember. Eventually learning to make them himself. And in his twenties opening a bakery because he got so good at making cookies.

He named the bakery Sander’s Bakery, because by the time he realized it wasn’t really the cookies, he also figured out that Mrs. Sanders had inadvertently pointed him in the direction he needed to go, to end up at this wonderful life. Kismet.