Harvey and the chicken bag

Back in my teaching days, it was a challenge getting all the kids herded out the door at the end of the day. On one particularly trying day, Harvey, an adorable little black boy, started crying. He didn't have a backpack like the rest of the kids to put his papers in that he was taking home. Nothing I did placated him. "I want a bag!" he wailed.

In desperation I grabbed a plastic grocery bag and showed it to him. "Look, Harvey, here's a bag. It's a chicken bag! You can have a chicken bag!" I turned the bag so he could see the chicken on it. As chickens go, it wasn't particularly attractive, but I had nothing else to offer. My assistant snorted and rolled her eyes. "Like THAT'S gonna work," she said.

But Harvey stopped crying. He looked at the chicken. He looked at me. I gave him an encouraging nod. And he pulled the bag open so he could put all his papers in it. I said a prayer of thanks and sent a triumphant look toward my assistant.

"I have a chicken bag!" Harvey said happily as he carried it out to the bus. He hung on to that chicken bag the rest of the year, filling it up with papers and artwork at the end of every day, and every morning bringing it back from home. I wouldn't be surprised to know he slept with it.

It just goes to show that you can sell anything if you market it right. It also shows that there are unintended consequences for everything. I had done such a good job selling Harvey on the chicken bag that all the other kids wanted one, too -- even those who had the coolest backpacks they had begged their mothers for. I had a hard time keeping the room fully stocked with chicken bags. I prayed daily that the grocery store would never change its bags. When I went shopping, I had to ask the bagger to put each item in a separate bag so I could collect enough bags. It wasn't exactly environmentally smart, but in a contest between the environment and 10 wailing children, which would you pick?