I was enjoying one of those miniature Hershey’s bars in between groups. It was a teeny-tiny piece of chocolate and I was savoring each teeny-tiny little bite. In reality, I could have gulped down the whole piece with one bite, but I wanted to enjoy the taste of chocolate. As a diabetic, I have to be conscious of what I consume, but my blood sugar was a little low, so I pulled a piece of candy from my purse.
I was mid-bite when M, one of my fifth graders, popped through the door. I tried to swallow the chocolate quickly in order to greet her. M’s eyes zeroed in on the little Hershey’s wrapper that I clutched in my hand.
“Aren’t you pre-diabetic?” she asked, still looking at the candy wrapper. I finally swallowed that last bite of chocolate. I dropped the wrapper into the trash can before I answered.
“I am diabetic,” I said. She and I’d had conversations about diabetes before and I wasn’t surprised that she remembered. I did, however, feel as though our roles had been reversed and she was getting ready to chide me for eating chocolate.
“Why are you eating chocolate?” M asked. I explained about my blood sugar. She didn’t seem entirely convinced and I wondered briefly if I was going to have to show her the reading on my meter. She seemed to think about it for a few moments, nodded, and sat down at the table, ready for our lesson.