Adam’s Most Famous Finger

At nursery, after the afternoon snack, there was always a little time to play before the parents came to collect the children. Some built train tracks, some drew, and some wandered around the classroom wondering what else could be done.

Adam was sitting on the carpet with Vojta and Oliver. In front of them stood a half-built garage, but the little cars were starting to get boring.

“Hey,” whispered Vojta, glancing around to check that the teacher wasn’t looking.

Then he raised his hand and showed his middle finger.

Oliver burst out laughing.

“Whoa! That’s rude!”

Adam laughed too. He didn’t really know what the finger meant, or why there was anything rude about it. It looked perfectly ordinary. That morning he had used it to hold his bread roll, and nobody had minded.

But he noticed one thing straight away: all you had to do was raise it, and everyone looked.

That was worth a try.

So he raised his middle finger too.

“Another rude one!” shouted Oliver, and rolled onto the carpet laughing.

Adam smiled, pleased. It was that easy!

When Amálka walked past, he called out to her:

“Hey, look what I can do!”

And he showed her the finger.

Amálka stopped.

“Why are you showing me that? It’s nasty.”

“It’s just a joke,” said Adam.

“I don’t think it’s funny.”

She went off to the little table, and for a moment Adam didn’t know what to say. Luckily Filip turned up, so he tried his new trick again.

Vojta still laughed, but Filip just shrugged.

“I’ve seen that already.”

And he went to get some blocks.

Adam turned to Bára, who was building a zoo next to them.

“Bára, look!”

Bára looked up from the giraffe enclosure.

“That finger again?”

Then she went back to building.

Adam was left standing in the middle of the classroom with his hand in the air.

Nobody laughed. Nobody was even really looking.

Slowly he put the finger away.

A moment ago it had been the best idea in the world. And now it seemed to have broken somehow.

A little later the teacher called the children to the carpet.

“Before we go home, we’ll have a little show,” she announced. “Anyone who wants to can perform something for us. Everyone gets ten seconds.”

The children liked the sound of that.

“Can I do a forward roll?” asked Filip.

“You can. We’ll just make plenty of room for you.”

“And can I sing?” asked Amálka.

“Of course.”

Oliver put up his hand.

“And can I make farting noises?”

The teacher looked at him.

“I had a feeling you’d ask exactly that.”

The children laughed, and the show could begin.

Filip did a forward roll and finished it with three frog jumps. On the last one he nearly sat down in the box of blocks.

Amálka sang in such a high voice that Oliver started looking at the ceiling to check whether a light bulb had cracked.

Then it was his turn. He tucked his hands into his armpits and took a deep, focused breath.

“PRRRT! PRRRT!”

Vojta laughed so hard he had to prop himself up on the carpet with both hands.

And then the teacher nodded to Adam.

Adam stood up in the middle of the circle.

Suddenly absolutely everyone was looking at him.

But he didn’t have a song ready. Or a forward roll. And the farting noises were already taken.

Only one thing came to mind.

He raised his middle finger.

Vojta gave a little smile. Amálka frowned. The others waited to see what would happen next.

“Adam, try showing us a different idea,” said the teacher kindly. “You still have time.”

Adam quickly hid his hand.

A different idea?

He looked around the classroom, as if one might be lying under a table.

And just then he remembered how Dad had once waddled around the kitchen like a penguin.

Adam pressed his arms to his sides, stuck out his bottom and took a few tiny, waddling steps.

“Cluck-cluck! Cluck-cluck!” he announced. “I’m a polar hen!”

Filip burst out laughing.

“That’s a penguin!”

“Not at all,” Adam replied importantly. “A very rare polar hen.”

He waddled over to Oliver and began pecking invisible crumbs out of his hair.

Oliver squealed with laughter and covered his head.

“There’s nothing there!”

Adam tilted his head to one side.

“Then why do I keep eating it?”

Now the whole class was laughing. Amálka, Bára, Filip and the teacher too.

Adam added one more ceremonial “cluck-cluck”, took a bow and sat back down on the carpet.

Vojta leaned over to him.

“That hen was a hundred times better than the finger.”

Adam smiled. He thought so too.

And besides, being a polar hen was much more fun than standing in the middle of the room with his hand in the air.

The next day the boys met at the garage again.

Oliver looked around and whispered:

“Hey.”

He raised his middle finger.

Vojta laughed briefly. Adam had almost raised his hand too, but then he stopped.

“Wait. I can hear something.”

The boys went quiet.

“What?”

Adam slowly stood up and pressed his arms to his sides.

“Something very rare is coming this way.”

He stuck out his bottom and waddled.

“Watch out! The polar hen is looking for breakfast!”

Oliver immediately covered his hair.

“There’s nothing left here!”

A moment later, half the class was waddling around the room. They went round the little tables, peeked under the chairs and searched for invisible crumbs.

“Cluck-cluck! Cluck-cluck!”

The teacher looked up from her desk.

“I don’t want to spoil your scientific research,” she remarked, “but hens probably don’t live at the pole.”

Adam stopped.

He thought for a moment and then nodded seriously.

“So that’s why there are so few of them there!”

The teacher burst out laughing.

And the polar hens happily set off on another round.

From then on, Adam showed his middle finger less and less. Sometimes the idea still came to him, especially when someone else started it.

And he had also discovered something much more fun: making up his own jokes that his friends could join in with.

So his middle finger went back to its ordinary work. It helped hold crayons, build garages and hold bread rolls.

And when Adam wanted to make the whole class laugh?

For that, he had the polar hen.

The End.