Love Hurts

When I was with the second graders, Yuna would like to hold my hand. She’d like to play with my fingers, particularly when I’d be standing and talking with another student. She’d grab my fingers and try to get my attention. But sometimes she would take one of my fingers and bend it back…really far.

“Yuna! Are you trying to break my finger?”

“Yes!” she said. “I want you to break your finger, so then you can get a cast and I can sign it!”

During recess I let the kids pinch me to see if they could make it hurt.

“Does that hurt?” they’d ask.

“No,” I’d say.

None of the kids succeeded.

Yuna came and pinched me, grabbing my skin and twisting it.

“Ouch!” I said.

“Does it hurt?” she’d ask.

“Yes!” I said, as if it weren’t already obvious.

She’d laugh.

I don’t know how, but Yuna had a way of always making it hurt. She was quite proud of it.

Yuna would constantly tell me how much she likes me, yet she also really enjoys hurting me.

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