Going Into April 11th with Fists Up To Father Time, But Also an Embrace of the Inevitable & Beauty of Aging

There are stories, and then there are stories. The Class of 2001 story is one I'll take to my grave - a new teacher, a crew of freshmyn minds (I always spelled it that way) and the four years that followed, as my 9th/10th assignment moved to 11th and 12th grades that were with me until I left. The result? The majority of these poor kids had me as their solo English teacher for all four years of high school. We bonded and became family quickly and when they graduated, I never thought I'd be the same again. They shaped me as a human being, an educator, and an individual, and 18 years later, I'm forever grateful to these special creatures.

Yesterday, I posted on Facebook that the babies born the year they graduate are now seniors in high school. That message was received with awe, depression, a joy for time, and nostalgia. None of us knew at that time that almost two decades would come towards us as quickly as they have.

These were my babies. They are adults now, with fascinating, complicated lives, and I'm sure none of them would have guessed there life would be as rich and complex as they inevitably were destined to become.

The night these kids graduated, I got in my grey Ford truck, Ethyl Betty, and cried for weeks. For four years, I dedicated everything in my being to these kids and, boom, just like that they were gone. I knew it was coming, and I was lucky. Who has the opportunity to work with the same kids for four straight years? Freshman camping, American studies patriotism, Junior year Plato caves, and senior year culminating projects became the egg, larvae, pupae, and butterfly.

They, with their parents, grew up with me. The investment was huge and remains with me today. It's a Friday, and I'm going into a weekend with much to accomplish, but I know that these kids - hell, of the Brown Schools kids and faculty and staff - remain with me in everything I do.

2 G's and a $1.

For life.