THE LUNCH BAG

THE LUNCH BAG

(a true story of Robert Fulghum and his 7-year-old daughter Molly)

It was Molly's job to hand her father his brown paper lunch bag each
morning before he headed off to work.  One morning, in addition to his
usual lunch bag, Molly handed him a second paper bag.  This one was worn
and held together with duct tape, staples, and paper clips.  "Why two
bags" Fulghum asked.  "The other is something else," Molly answered.
"What's in it?"  "Just some stuff.  Take it with you."  Not wanting to
hold court over the matter, Fulghum stuffed both sacks into his
briefcase, kissed Molly and rushed off.

At midday, while hurriedly scarfing down his real lunch, he tore open
Molly's bag and shook out the contents:  two hair ribbons, three small
stones, a plastic dinosaur, a pencil stub, a tiny sea shell, two animal
crackers, a marble, a used lipstick, a small doll, two chocolate kisses,
and 13 pennies.  Fulghum smiled, finished eating, and swept the desk
clean - into the wastebasket -  leftover lunch, Molly's junk and all.

That evening, Molly ran up behind him as he read the newspaper.
"Where's my bag?"  "What bag?"  "You know, the one I gave you this
morning."  "I left it at the office.  Why?"  "I forgot to put this note
in it," she said.  "And, besides, those are my things in the sack,
Daddy, the ones I really like - I thought you might like to play with
them, but now I want them back.  You didn't lose the bag, did you,
Daddy?"  "Oh, no," he said, lying.  "I just forgot to bring it home.
I'll  bring it tomorrow.  "While Molly hugged her father's neck, he
unfolded the note that had not made it into the sack:  "I love you,
Daddy."  Molly had given him her treasures.
All that a 7-year-old held dear.   Love in a paper sack, and he missed
it - not only missed it, but had thrown it in the wastebasket.

So back he went to the office.  Just ahead of the night janitor, he
picked up the wastebasket and poured the contents on his desk.  After
washing the mustard off the dinosaurs and spraying the whole thing with
breath-freshener to kill the smell of onions, he carefully smoothed out
the wadded ball of brown paper, put the treasures inside and carried it
home gingerly, like an injured kitten.  The bag didn't look so good, but
the stuff was all there and that's what counted.  After dinner, he asked
Molly to tell him about the stuff in the sack.  It took a long time to
tell.  Everything had a story or a memory or was attached to dreams and
imaginary friends.  Fairies had brought some of the things.  He had
given her the chocolate kisses, and she had kept them for when she
needed them.

"Sometimes I think of all the times in this sweet life," Fulghum
concludes the story, "when I must have missed the affection I was being
given.  A friend calls this 'standing knee deep in the river and dying
of thirst'. "We should all remember that it's not the destination that
counts in life -- it's the journey.  The 'little girl smiles', the
dinosaurs and chocolate kisses wrapped in old paper bags that we
sometimes throw away too thoughtlessly, each day, each a tiny treasure.
The journey with the people we love is all that really matters.  Such a
simple truth so easily forgotten.