I have a fifteen year old son who runs as a hobby and works in a fish market during the summers. Raising him can be stinky business. My thirteen year old daughter's ballet bag could knock you out. Like any mother, I have found my share of unidentifiable food products in lunch boxes. Today, some days after the end of the school year, I walked by my daughter's bedroom where she was finally emptying out her school backpack for use at an upcoming field hockey camp. There was a white/green/brown blob on her hardwood floor. A nasty, rotten apple. No kidding. As I was gearing up to let her have it she reached down to the same pile on the floor and handed me an envelope. "Some girl at school gave this to me and asked me to give it to you," she said, sort of apologetically. She was a little late but seemed to sense that the letter was enough of a decoy to save her from one of my rants.
Ya, who cares about rotten apples, right?
I don't need to be a superhero teacher. I need this. This all day is enough. This was a gift today. Every day I get to do this important work with kids like this kid and her classmates is a good day.