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C10P31 – Right thing

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Looks like somebody’s been hearing you all along, Mizha…

Every now and again, something will happen that highlights how vastly different my life is now that I’ve switched careers. Today the bell rang and the children flooded in, each one of them bearing flowers. It was teacher appreciation day, and while most of the bouquets went to the teacher I assist, many of the students had brought a special flower for Mrs. Childs too. It was completely unexpected, and I had to make an impromptu vase out of a thermos I’d brought.


Being, as I am, an increasingly emotional sap, I confess to blinking back a few tears. While finances are something I agonize about a lot these days, moments like that that make a tight bank account feel a small price to pay. I’ve never felt valued at a job before. Never felt like I made a difference or mattered to anyone. Here, I can see the impact I have every day. Even if it’s something small, like getting a student to fall in love with poetry, or discover a hidden acting talent, or remember to turn in their homework for the first time in weeks because they promised me they would. I don’t know if teaching will be a major part of my future or not right now, but I do know these will be experiences I look back on with fondness. And that’s a first.

What about your life brings you joy right now?


Children visit this site. Moderate your language accordingly.

Background!Mizha is getting really creepy. Also, this is pulling at my feelings even more than it would anyway because I’m starting to see this isn’t just racism–Mizha really doesn’t appreciate herself.

Oh, that’s so nice!

Aaand this has become Mizha’s reoccurring nightmare. This behavior is what she has to get over, get through, before she can go on her quest, yes? That is big progress right there.

My memory: A certain moment when lilacs and chestnut trees in blossom surround me as I walk toward the hall where I will get my mail from an old fashioned wooden cubby hole–a big one,four inches tall, about a foot wide–expecting it to be stuffed with late papers to grade, not of the finest quality– expecting to stay up all night grading papers again . . .

And the mail cubby was stuffed instead with lilacs and chestnut blossoms.

There was a heartfelt note underneath, written by a student who felt she had been tossed aside as an impossible case by everyone else but me. She was proud–she was going to graduate. And oh yes, she was handing in all her back papers for the semester . . . and my eyes are tearing up yet again . . .

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