Happy Holidays to my Teachers

I will admit it; I was a teacher's pet. Well, more like stray dog.

When I was in third grade, I spent hours after school and on Saturdays with my teacher. She was a lovely twenty-something woman who had travelled extensively and who had the patience of a saint. She made up things for me to help her with, and while I enjoyed being helpful, what I loved most was listening to her tell me stories from her travels around the world. In fact, I still remember her telling the story of how she learned the hard way to not eat with her left hand in one country (hint...it has something to do with what they typically used the hand for). For the first time, my eyes were opened to the possibility of cultural differences.

During my senior year of high school, I spent many hours conversing after school with my teachers. One, in particular, was moved from guidance counselor to government teacher right before my senior year. Her displeasure with this move was obvious, but she still listened patiently and wisely to us as we complained about our small, selfish gripes agains