I’m standing in the front corner of my 1st grade classroom. To my right, I can see out of the large windows onto the playground below where just minutes before I had been eating popcorn with my friends during recess. To my left, is the door to the hallway where my mother will appear in about half an hour.  Directly in front of me is my teacher, seated at her desk. She is not happy with me. 

I glance down at the coins in my outstretched hand and I can feel my heart banging against my chest wall, like a caged animal. I don't have enough money for the field trip and my teacher makes sure I understand that what I am holding in my hand doesn't come close to what is needed.

My mother had given me a dollar at the start of the day. "This is for your field trip," she told me. "Don't forget to give it to your teacher." I remember folding the bill neatly and tucking it deep inside the front pocket of my jeans. 

Thursday was Popcorn day at Thousand Oaks Elementary School in the early 1970s. 10 cents for a bag of popcorn. When I fished inside my pocket and pulled out my dollar bill, word spread faster than a cootie kisser on the playground that I had money. Suddenly, I was the popular kid, surrounded by adoring friends.

But now, standing in front of my teacher with the echoes of children playing wafting through the open windows, I experience a sensation I’ve never felt before: shame. It washes over my entire body like electric shock waves, paralyzing my breath, my speech, my mind.

I peer over my shoulder and notice that all of my classmates have stopped their work and are focused on the scene unfolding before them. My teacher's loud voice and harsh words got their attention. Their eyes are wide with a mix of curiosity, trepidation and relief. This could have easily happened to any one of them, but in this moment they are safe, free from her wrath, outside of the cage. Just observers.

I, on the other hand, can't talk. I can’t breathe. I've never been spoken to like that before. I want to disappear.

When my mother appears in the doorway, her smile illuminates the entire room. All eyes are on her. She is gorgeous, radiant, confident. She even seems amused, as if at any moment she might blurt out something like, "So this is where all the fun happens! Why didn't you invite me sooner?!"

Yes, that is my mother, that delightfully endearing woman and instantly, I am the luckiest girl in the room. My body relaxes, the cage door is unlocked. I can breathe again. I run to her and she pulls me close.

Happy Birthday, mom! Missing you forever.