My First Class

 My first class.  They were my babies before I had babies.  After four years of college, one year of grad school, a semester of student teaching, and one year of subbing- I finally had a classroom of my own.  I can't describe how excited I was to get that job.  I loved my principal.  I loved my co-workers.  And most of all, I loved my students.  I talked about them so much I'm sure Steve can still name just about every kid in that class.  I loved every day of my first year of teaching.  It wasn't a job, it was my life.  I could not believe I got paid to have fun with these kids!  I cried on the last day of school.  Not shed a few tears.  Ugly cried.  Then the next fall I welcomed my next batch of 2nd graders and I loved them too...but it was different.  I knew I would have to say goodbye at the end of the year and so I didn't love quite as hard.  I never cried again on the last day of school, until my last day teaching.
This May I went to a reception for graduating seniors.  It was surreal to see my kids all grown up when they will always be seven in my memory.  It was as if I was time traveling.  Because I'm pretty sure I was just holding a scared little girl's hand in the Halloween parade...but now she is a National Merit Finalist.  And the boy who used to give me multiple hugs a day, his face right at my belly button, is now taller than me.  (He remembered and gave me a hug at the reception.)  But even though I can see the changes in them, I still feel the same.  In my head I'm in my twenties, not too far out of college.  And now my 2nd graders are going to college and I have a daughter in 2nd grade.  Man, it goes by fast.