"I know you don't remember me," she began, "But you were my first grade teacher. You were my best teacher. Ms. L"
I just about fell over. The minute I looked at her face I remembered her. Of course I did. She was smaller, more timid, a quiet six year old, very different than this confident teenager standing in front of me holding car keys- but yes, I remembered her.
It's been ten years. It meant so much to see her all grown up. It was my very first class and I left the school I taught at to go to the think tank. Until today I'd never seen any of those kids again.
It was a surreal experience to realize that I was driving out of the parking lot with a little girl I'd taught to read. How is she old enough to drive? How am I old enough to have taught someone for so long?
It was one of those moments as a teacher that you are blown away by the general nature of change in the world.
|Art work completed by my first class of first graders, ten years ago. The beauty in first grade is watching them bloom|