the potatoes of summer

When the school year was coming to an end, Miss Lyra gave her students an unusual assignment. “Each of you,” she said, “must bring a small sack and a few potatoes tomorrow.” The children giggled, wondering if they would be making soup. 

The next day, the desks were lined with brown paper bags and lumpy potatoes. Miss Lyra looked at her class with a mysterious smile. “Now,” she said, “for every person you are angry with — a classmate, a friend, a parent, anyone – pick a potato and write that person’s name on it. Then place it in your bag.” 

When they were done, some children had only one or two potatoes; others had bags so full the sides bulged. “This,” Miss Lyra continued, “will be your summer assignment. Keep this bag close. Take it wherever you go. Don’t lose a single potato. Your grade will depend on how well you care for them.” 

The children were puzzled, but no one dared question her. After all, Miss Lyra’s lessons were always strange but somehow made sense in the end. 

Summer arrived. At first, the task seemed easy. But as the days grew hot, the potatoes began to spoil, and a sour smell crept from the bags. The children tried to hide them in corners, tie them tighter, or sprinkle perfume inside. Yet the stench followed them everywhere on trips, at meals, even in their sleep. Some event felt that people are avoiding them, and by the end of vacation, most students were fed up.  When they returned to school, the classroom reeked of rot. The children dropped their bags on the floor, faces twisted with disgust. 

Miss Lyra folded her hands. “So,” she said calmly, “how did you do with your summer project?” 

Complaints burst from every corner of the room. “It was awful!” “The bag got heavy!” “My potatoes turned to mush!” “It stinks!” Miss Lyra nodded.

“And why,” she asked, “did you carry them all summer?” “Because you told us to!” they cried. “Yes,” said Miss Lyra softly, “and that is what we all do with our anger.” The room grew still. “When you hold onto resentment,” she said, “you carry it everywhere — even when you sleep. It spoils inside you, making everything around you unpleasant. You can try to hide it, but the rot will find its way out. 

If you want peace, you must let go of the potato – let go of the anger.”.
The kids were stunned and set in silence. After a while one asked – “So what do we do with the potatoes now?”
“You throw them to the bin outside – and the sooner the better, because indeed it stinks here” Miss Lyra said with a laugh.

“You are not going to check them, what about our grades?”

She smiled gently. “Your true grade,” she added, “is not in how well you kept the potatoes, but in how quickly you learn to set the bag down”.