Sometimes they just break your heart.

I've been a teacher for a relatively long time. This is my ninth year. In those nine years, I've had hundreds of students. Each of them came to me with their own story, their own traumas and triumphs, their own little take on the world. Each of them, in their own way has touched me and shaped the way I see and interact with the world. Many of them are the reason I come back to teaching year after year. On any given day, I feel prepared to handle whatever my students bring me, be it sorrow or joy, serious conversation or light-hearted celebration. Today a little girl walked through my door and showed me just how much I still have to learn. I can't post much about her particular circumstances, but suffice it to say that such a short life should not contain so much abuse and neglect. The scars of her past are visible on her person and in her eyes. Her fear and uncertainty were palpable as soon as she walked through my door. She recoiled from my hand as I gently touched her shoulder, and it took a concerted effort for her to raise her eyes up off the floor. It broke my heart to watch her struggle with simply being in the room.
As the days go by and I try to teach her English, I have a feeling I'm going to have to teach her much more than a language, and I have no idea how I'm going to do it. Watching her trying to shrink into her desk, trying to hide in plain sight reminds me how fortunate my children and I are to be where we are and have the lives that we do. It may sound odd, but I am thankful that she found her way to me. I am almost certain she has as much to teach me as I do her.

What a difference a year makes.

Dear Victor,
A year ago, you couldn't sleep for nervousness over starting school and the changes that would bring. You got up early, excited, scared, unsure about what the day would bring. You fingered your breakfast, not really wanting to eat, in too much of a hurry to get your clothes on and get on with your day, your new 'life' as a kindergartner. You walked up to the school, anxious and excited, clutching your papa's hand the whole way, wanting to go but not quite ready to let go. You wavering confidence was adorable and oddly reassuring. On the playground, waiting for the bell to ring and your new class to start, you became confident and reassured that kindergarten would be fun and you would make friends. The walk into kindergarten was easy and exciting, as long as you were holding my hand.

Today you began first grade. There was no nervousness, no fright, and the doubts you had about being able to handle first grade were fleeting. The day couldn't begin early enough for you. You inhaled your breakfast,














threw on your clothes,















and waited by the door impatiently. For an hour.


















You didn't walk up to school, so much as you ran, your little brother chasing behind you.The walk to class was more like a swagger, and there was no time to hold hands.

When it came time for class to start, you sat patiently,














raised your hand, and let the whole room know you were there and ready to get down to the very serious business that is first grade.












You are such an incredible little boy.
I'm so excited to see what this year has in store for you, and you for it!

Love,

Mama

Some things never change.

I was out of the classroom for a whole year. While I was gone, I fretted that upon my return, things would be horribly different, new, foreign. The weeks leading up to the start of school were sleepless and anxiety ridden as I chewed my lips and paced the floor trying to plot my courses and plan every minute of the days ahead of me. I felt surprisingly like a first time teacher all over again. Until today. Today I walked back into that room and it felt like home. A few things are different, like the tardy and cell phone policies (which are ever changing and often hardly enforced) and some of the faces walking the halls. But that feeling, that sense of purpose, that knowledge that what I do here matters, those never change. I've never been more grateful for, more humbled or excited by that than I am this year. It's good to be home.