Sleepy Head

a Saturday story

{Saturday Stories are something I started a long while back. It gives you a chance to catch up on your Bible reading as we read through the Bible together - just in case you fell behind. Sometimes my stories have a moral to them, and sometimes they are just stories. I’ll let you decide about that}

It’s no shock to anyone who knows me that I am a master at sleeping. For some reason, sleeping has always come easy for me. I’ve slept sitting down, lying down, on the ground, in the air, on a floor, in the grass, on a stone—Dr. Seuss has nothing on me…

Back in high school, before I could drive, I rode the school bus home every afternoon. We lived about 8 miles east of the school. My last class of the day (I don’t remember what it was about, but I’ll explain why shortly) seemed like a perfect time for a nap.

My teacher, however, didn’t appreciate my sleeping skills. Twice during the year, when I’d laid my head on my desk—quiet, not disturbing anyone or anything but my grades—he tried to teach me a lesson.

While I was sound asleep, he’d quietly dismiss the class, pack up his things, turn off the lights, and leave me to my slumber. Both times, I woke up to an empty classroom and an abandoned school building.

Aside from the distant hum of a vacuum, not a sound could be heard. Walking outside through the double glass doors, after my eyes adjusted to the blinding sunlight, I realized that all the buses had come and gone.

Now, for the younger readers, remember this was back in the days before everyone was connected, before cell phones were everywhere, and before parents were tracking our every move. If I had needed a ride, I’d have had to find a payphone (which wasn’t anywhere near the school), drop in some change (but my pockets were empty), and hope I could remember my parents’ work numbers (which I didn’t).

Even if I had managed to find a way to make that call, I didn’t have to imagine how it would go—I knew exactly how it would end: with the same outcome I was headed toward without the phone call. So, the simplest solution was to do what I did: start walking.

It wasn’t uphill both ways, there wasn’t three feet of snow, and it wasn’t even raining. I think there was a mild chill and some gray clouds hanging in the sky. But it was still a long walk—about eight miles.

I don’t remember my siblings asking about my whereabouts when I got home. They probably didn’t worry or care much. My parents never heard about it, at least not that I can remember.

Did I learn my lesson? Not really. That’s why it happened twice. There was no lasting trauma. No PTSD. No counseling required. And I can still sleep like a pro. So, if you see me nodding off, or already in REM, don’t try to fix me. Your efforts will be as futile as those of my high school teacher.

Good night.

teenage boy sleeping with his head on his school desk