“Mrs. Jones, why do you have a potato on your desk?
A question I heard for many years from my junior high and high school students.
“Pick it up,” I’d say each time.
“Whoa, it’s heavy.”
And it was—the rock that looked like a potato, the rock that my young daughter brought home to me after a walk with her dad.
“Look, Mom, I found you a potato.”
Like my students I was fooled until she gave it to me to hold. “Whoa, that’s heavy.”
She giggled at my reaction, mighty pleased with herself for tricking me.
“You know what,” I said. “This will make a perfect paperweight on my desk.”
Many years later it’s still doing its job on the corner of my desk.
Many years later I hear, “Grandma, why do you have a potato on your desk?”