His name was Timothy Owen. We were both in Mrs. Walshan's kindergarden class. He was quiet with blond hair. I never noticed him until one day he came to me at recess and gave me a ring. It was silver colored, they kind you squeeze to make fit,
and had a bright blue dot with the lines of a woman on the front.
I didn't put it on just clutched is in my palm and took it home and showed my mother.
"It's a Catholic ring! Don't you know that! It's the Virgin Mary. Give it back to him. Catholics are not Christians."
My mother always held strong if not rationally based views on religion.
So the next day I went to school with the intention of giving back the ring, but first thing that morning, Mrs. Walshan stood in front of our class grimly serious. "A ring missing. Virginia remembers last having it at morning recess yesterday. It was her special Virgin Mary ring. It means a great deal to her. Has anyone seen it?" Mrs. Walsham stands hands on hips, "Okay, instead of recess today, we will spend our time looking for it."
I looked over at Timothy. He looked down. The ring was in my pocket, but we both got in on the search of the playground, floor where we took naps, the coat room, boxes of wooden blocks, stacks of board games and even our respective restrooms. I kept the ring in my pocket.
The next day, Timothy came up to me at recess and asked me if I had the ring he gave me. I told him yes but shouldn't we give it back to Virginia. He looked up. His eyes were blue. He looked like he could cry. He told me she didn't need the ring and that he loved me and gave it to me to protect me always.
The next semester he moved away. I have the ring in my jewelry box yet.