Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash I am probably five or six years old. I’m sitting at a table with other preschool kids. The teacher is Mrs. Payne and it’s almost time for the bell to ring and dismiss a hoard of wild little kids to trample anything on their way to the school buses. Mrs. Payne is going on about something. By my right foot, I see a piece of lead, which had broken off from a pencil. Maybe it was my pencil. Maybe it was someone else’s pencil. Does it really matter? It could have been Philip, a little guy that I’d probably just met that day sitting right…