The Bag of Cookies
The bell rang and the hoards ran loose.
Hundreds of little students of Marks Elementary School poured into the playground for recess. This was their natural element. The few teachers chosen to supervise these youngsters remained silent in observing this environment of the child.
They formed and moved in groups. Some packs assembled at the monkey bars, others at the slides, and some met to compete on the ball field. Little masses of like-minded friends always traveled together, following the group loyally and never straying away.
Yet there was one exception.
The boy sat upon a rock near the outskirts of the playground. He sat, alone, not paying attention to the wildness before him. He was a plain boy, brown of hair, medium of stature, unburdened with glasses or braces, wearing simple blue jeans and a striped t-shirt. An emotionless calm masked his face. Nothing was exceptional, save that he was perfectly alone and had with him a treasure.
The boy, Jeremy, had a bag of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Once a week, Jeremy would bring to his rock a bag of these and eat them… all by himself.
Other children saw Jeremy and never paid him mind, dismissing him as a “loser.” However, when Jeremy brought his bag of cookies they would cease their insults, coveting the bag. No one knew Jeremy and he had no friends; anyone who dared approach him on the rock would be decreed a “loser” for abandoning the pack. For that matter, no individual dared to approach to ask him for a cookie… and Jeremy never offered to share.
One day, the scene changed.
A few minutes after the bell rang, one pack, finding strength in its size and leader approached the rock. A large, bold boy named Steven was at its head. Jeremy didn’t seem to notice, continuing to munch on a cookie.
Standing at the base of the rock, they knew they were on foreign ground. None had ever traveled this far or ever tried what Steven did next:
“Hey, you!”
Their eyes met, each pair alien to the other.
“Your name’s Jeremy, right?”
There was stillness, broken only by a nod.
“Well, Jeremy we were wondering if you could share some of your cookies with us.” There was a collective nod. “Yeah, you can hang out with us if you share some with us. Right, guys?”
“Yeah!”
“He’s the most popular kid on the playground!”
“Don’t you wanna hang with him? He’s the coolest!”
Jeremy stared down at the mob, taking another bite of his cookie.
“Hey!” A touch of aggression entered Steven’s voice. “Didn’t mommy ever teach you to share?”
“They’re mine.” Jeremy said it practically, like a fact of life.
“Don’t you wanna hang out with us?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you’ll be cool, instead of being a lame-o out here by yourself on this stupid rock. Don’t you want to be cool?”
“No.”
Steven chuckled. “Well, sooory. Didn’t realize you wanted to be a loser… Germ-ee! Ha!”
The herd laughed too, mimicking the leader.
Jeremy said nothing. Looking away from the mob, he ate the rest of the cookie.
Steven refocused. “Hey! Won’t you share those cookies with us?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
Steven glared up at the boy. “I’ll tell the teacher on you!”
Jeremy looked down at him.
“You don’t like that Germy? The little baby don wanna get in twuble? Well, I will. I’ll tell and the teacher will give us the cookies and you’ll get a big, fat detention!”
“Then do it.” This was a challenge; every fiber of Jeremy’s tone meant it.
Steven hesitated. No one ever had done this to him before… and meant it. He turned to his followers. “Joe, go get a teacher.”
“Who?”
“Miss Carlson. She’s nice. She’ll make Germy share.”
“I’ll go get her!”
Steven smugly grinned up at Jeremy. “Told ya so! What are ya gonna do now, Germy? Tell ya what: you give us some of your cookies now and–”
“Shut up.”
The herd held its breath; nobody said that to Steven.
“What’d you just say?!”
“Shut up. I don’t want you to have any of my cookies. Leave me alone.”
“Nobody talks to me like that without paying for it! Give us some cookies now or… or we’re gonna beat you up!”
The mob stirred nervously. They’d never beaten anyone up before; threatened to, but never did.
“No.” Jeremy’s stare became hard and icy.
The mob chimed in, advancing on the rock.
“Give us some cookies!”
“You greedy pig!”
“Do it! Or we’ll get you in trouble, Germy!”
“Selfish kids get in a lot of trouble, stupid!
“Give us some!”
“Look out, the teacher’s comin’.”
Miss Carlson, youngest and nicest of the teachers in Marks Elementary, was being lead over to the rock by Joe. Instantly, the mob put on a face of innocence.
Miss Carlson examined the scene. “What seems to be going on here children?”
“Jeremy won’t share any of his cookies with us.”
“Yeah, he brings a whole bag to eat all by himself.”
“Every day.”
“We asked him if he would share some of his cookies with us.”
“And that he could hang out with us if he did.”
“All he does is sit alone on this rock all the time.”
Miss Carlson glanced at Jeremy. “Is that so?”
Steven spoke. “Yeah, it is. So we asked real nice if he could share some of his cookies with us. He said ‘No, they’re all mine’ and that we should shut up and go away; he wants to keep all the cookies for himself.”
Miss Carlson folded her arms. “Is this true, Jeremy?”
Steven answered his question. “That’s what happened. Honest.”
“Well, Jeremy,” said Miss Carlson, “that’s very selfish of you. These poor boys kindly asked you to share your cookies with them– which you had more than enough for just yourself– and you treated them very unkindly by refusing to give them any. I want you to apologize to them right now and offer some of your cookies to them.”
Jeremy, stared at her, in silent, stricken protest. “But, Miss Carlson–”
“No ‘buts,’ Jeremy. You ought to know better; it’s the polite thing to do to share and be nice with others at school.” The pack grinned at Jeremy, like a pack of wolves. “And, besides, you’ve been very rude.”
“But–”
“What did I say, Jeremy?”
Jeremy, defeated, slid off his throne to the ground beneath him. He paused, staring at them. Miss Carlson looked at him expectantly. “Well, Jeremy? Give each of these boys a cookie.”
He remained still; only his head shook slightly, the only sign of his determined refusal to give in.
“Jeremy!” Miss Carlson was mad now. “Do you want to stay in detention after school today?”
“Stop, Lenora.”
A gruff, old teacher, Mr. Randal, walked up. “Leave this boy alone. He’s done nothing wrong.”
“Andrew? Jeremy has been very mean to–”
“I’ve watched this group all recess and I know that”–he eyed the mob– “you’re punishing the victim.”
Brrrrrrrrrrrrring! The bell rang. Recess was over. The mob tried to run off to the lines to go inside.
“Stop!” Mr. Randal bellowed. They halted. “If I ever see you bother Jeremy again, I’ll see that you all have detention with me for a week. Got it?” The mob nodded fearfully. “Go get in line.” The pack scampered away. He turned to Jeremy, his mood softening. “If anyone ever gives you any more trouble, come find me, okay?” Jeremy nodded before heading to the lines.
Miss Carlson looked aghast. “Do you realize what you’ve just done? That boy–”
“I can’t expect you to understand, Lenora. I witnessed the whole event and I can tell you that those brats didn’t tell you the whole truth. They were bullying the boy.”
“That doesn’t justify Jeremy’s actions; he was being very selfish by refusing to share to begin with.” They began walking back to the school.
“Children travel in packs at recess, Miss Carlson; no one child at this age can fathom the prospect of being alone or apart from a group. Kids like Jeremy are the exception. They have enough conviction to be by themselves.”
“But that doesn’t explain why Jeremy was so selfish in not sharing.”
“Quite the contrary, Lenora. A boy with that level of conviction– to firmly stand alone against the norm– deserves to keep all that he has. He had no obligation to distribute his wealth to those who are beneath him. It was Jeremy’s decision, and he decided not to share his cookies.” They arrived at the building.
Miss Carlson sighed. “I suppose so. But, since his parents buy him cookies so often, why doesn’t he share with anyone? Why is he so… greedy?”
Mr. Randal opened the door for her. “Lenora, I know this for a fact: Jeremy works every afternoon on a farm just outside of town, earning a dollar each time he goes. Before school, once a week, he walks to the bakery down the street and buys a bag of cookies using all the money he earned working on that farm. Those cookies legally belonged to Jeremy. By making him share, you would have stolen them from him.” Miss Carlson stopped eyes wide in surprise. “I hope that clears things up.”
Hundreds of little students of Marks Elementary School poured into the playground for recess. This was their natural element. The few teachers chosen to supervise these youngsters remained silent in observing this environment of the child.
They formed and moved in groups. Some packs assembled at the monkey bars, others at the slides, and some met to compete on the ball field. Little masses of like-minded friends always traveled together, following the group loyally and never straying away.
Yet there was one exception.
The boy sat upon a rock near the outskirts of the playground. He sat, alone, not paying attention to the wildness before him. He was a plain boy, brown of hair, medium of stature, unburdened with glasses or braces, wearing simple blue jeans and a striped t-shirt. An emotionless calm masked his face. Nothing was exceptional, save that he was perfectly alone and had with him a treasure.
The boy, Jeremy, had a bag of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Once a week, Jeremy would bring to his rock a bag of these and eat them… all by himself.
Other children saw Jeremy and never paid him mind, dismissing him as a “loser.” However, when Jeremy brought his bag of cookies they would cease their insults, coveting the bag. No one knew Jeremy and he had no friends; anyone who dared approach him on the rock would be decreed a “loser” for abandoning the pack. For that matter, no individual dared to approach to ask him for a cookie… and Jeremy never offered to share.
One day, the scene changed.
A few minutes after the bell rang, one pack, finding strength in its size and leader approached the rock. A large, bold boy named Steven was at its head. Jeremy didn’t seem to notice, continuing to munch on a cookie.
Standing at the base of the rock, they knew they were on foreign ground. None had ever traveled this far or ever tried what Steven did next:
“Hey, you!”
Their eyes met, each pair alien to the other.
“Your name’s Jeremy, right?”
There was stillness, broken only by a nod.
“Well, Jeremy we were wondering if you could share some of your cookies with us.” There was a collective nod. “Yeah, you can hang out with us if you share some with us. Right, guys?”
“Yeah!”
“He’s the most popular kid on the playground!”
“Don’t you wanna hang with him? He’s the coolest!”
Jeremy stared down at the mob, taking another bite of his cookie.
“Hey!” A touch of aggression entered Steven’s voice. “Didn’t mommy ever teach you to share?”
“They’re mine.” Jeremy said it practically, like a fact of life.
“Don’t you wanna hang out with us?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“But you’ll be cool, instead of being a lame-o out here by yourself on this stupid rock. Don’t you want to be cool?”
“No.”
Steven chuckled. “Well, sooory. Didn’t realize you wanted to be a loser… Germ-ee! Ha!”
The herd laughed too, mimicking the leader.
Jeremy said nothing. Looking away from the mob, he ate the rest of the cookie.
Steven refocused. “Hey! Won’t you share those cookies with us?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
Steven glared up at the boy. “I’ll tell the teacher on you!”
Jeremy looked down at him.
“You don’t like that Germy? The little baby don wanna get in twuble? Well, I will. I’ll tell and the teacher will give us the cookies and you’ll get a big, fat detention!”
“Then do it.” This was a challenge; every fiber of Jeremy’s tone meant it.
Steven hesitated. No one ever had done this to him before… and meant it. He turned to his followers. “Joe, go get a teacher.”
“Who?”
“Miss Carlson. She’s nice. She’ll make Germy share.”
“I’ll go get her!”
Steven smugly grinned up at Jeremy. “Told ya so! What are ya gonna do now, Germy? Tell ya what: you give us some of your cookies now and–”
“Shut up.”
The herd held its breath; nobody said that to Steven.
“What’d you just say?!”
“Shut up. I don’t want you to have any of my cookies. Leave me alone.”
“Nobody talks to me like that without paying for it! Give us some cookies now or… or we’re gonna beat you up!”
The mob stirred nervously. They’d never beaten anyone up before; threatened to, but never did.
“No.” Jeremy’s stare became hard and icy.
The mob chimed in, advancing on the rock.
“Give us some cookies!”
“You greedy pig!”
“Do it! Or we’ll get you in trouble, Germy!”
“Selfish kids get in a lot of trouble, stupid!
“Give us some!”
“Look out, the teacher’s comin’.”
Miss Carlson, youngest and nicest of the teachers in Marks Elementary, was being lead over to the rock by Joe. Instantly, the mob put on a face of innocence.
Miss Carlson examined the scene. “What seems to be going on here children?”
“Jeremy won’t share any of his cookies with us.”
“Yeah, he brings a whole bag to eat all by himself.”
“Every day.”
“We asked him if he would share some of his cookies with us.”
“And that he could hang out with us if he did.”
“All he does is sit alone on this rock all the time.”
Miss Carlson glanced at Jeremy. “Is that so?”
Steven spoke. “Yeah, it is. So we asked real nice if he could share some of his cookies with us. He said ‘No, they’re all mine’ and that we should shut up and go away; he wants to keep all the cookies for himself.”
Miss Carlson folded her arms. “Is this true, Jeremy?”
Steven answered his question. “That’s what happened. Honest.”
“Well, Jeremy,” said Miss Carlson, “that’s very selfish of you. These poor boys kindly asked you to share your cookies with them– which you had more than enough for just yourself– and you treated them very unkindly by refusing to give them any. I want you to apologize to them right now and offer some of your cookies to them.”
Jeremy, stared at her, in silent, stricken protest. “But, Miss Carlson–”
“No ‘buts,’ Jeremy. You ought to know better; it’s the polite thing to do to share and be nice with others at school.” The pack grinned at Jeremy, like a pack of wolves. “And, besides, you’ve been very rude.”
“But–”
“What did I say, Jeremy?”
Jeremy, defeated, slid off his throne to the ground beneath him. He paused, staring at them. Miss Carlson looked at him expectantly. “Well, Jeremy? Give each of these boys a cookie.”
He remained still; only his head shook slightly, the only sign of his determined refusal to give in.
“Jeremy!” Miss Carlson was mad now. “Do you want to stay in detention after school today?”
“Stop, Lenora.”
A gruff, old teacher, Mr. Randal, walked up. “Leave this boy alone. He’s done nothing wrong.”
“Andrew? Jeremy has been very mean to–”
“I’ve watched this group all recess and I know that”–he eyed the mob– “you’re punishing the victim.”
Brrrrrrrrrrrrring! The bell rang. Recess was over. The mob tried to run off to the lines to go inside.
“Stop!” Mr. Randal bellowed. They halted. “If I ever see you bother Jeremy again, I’ll see that you all have detention with me for a week. Got it?” The mob nodded fearfully. “Go get in line.” The pack scampered away. He turned to Jeremy, his mood softening. “If anyone ever gives you any more trouble, come find me, okay?” Jeremy nodded before heading to the lines.
Miss Carlson looked aghast. “Do you realize what you’ve just done? That boy–”
“I can’t expect you to understand, Lenora. I witnessed the whole event and I can tell you that those brats didn’t tell you the whole truth. They were bullying the boy.”
“That doesn’t justify Jeremy’s actions; he was being very selfish by refusing to share to begin with.” They began walking back to the school.
“Children travel in packs at recess, Miss Carlson; no one child at this age can fathom the prospect of being alone or apart from a group. Kids like Jeremy are the exception. They have enough conviction to be by themselves.”
“But that doesn’t explain why Jeremy was so selfish in not sharing.”
“Quite the contrary, Lenora. A boy with that level of conviction– to firmly stand alone against the norm– deserves to keep all that he has. He had no obligation to distribute his wealth to those who are beneath him. It was Jeremy’s decision, and he decided not to share his cookies.” They arrived at the building.
Miss Carlson sighed. “I suppose so. But, since his parents buy him cookies so often, why doesn’t he share with anyone? Why is he so… greedy?”
Mr. Randal opened the door for her. “Lenora, I know this for a fact: Jeremy works every afternoon on a farm just outside of town, earning a dollar each time he goes. Before school, once a week, he walks to the bakery down the street and buys a bag of cookies using all the money he earned working on that farm. Those cookies legally belonged to Jeremy. By making him share, you would have stolen them from him.” Miss Carlson stopped eyes wide in surprise. “I hope that clears things up.”
Nathaniel Gowen