I loved watching TV when I was a kid, almost as much as I loved diving into my fantasy world. Sometimes, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on my dolls for their next dialogues and adventures. Whenever I write, I visit that place. Whenever I’m invited to play, even if it is just for a moment, I get transported there. That was the magic of teaching children for me. We played, and I had to oscillate between keeping the peace and being the guardian of the rules. Not as difficult at you might think. When I was in a classroom, my height helped. However, when I became a high school teacher. I went back to being short. It’s all relative, you know? 

Teaching is a very safe place for me, I need it as much as my students need it. And I love that. (I’m glad you can’t see me as I write this. There’s blubbering.) Teaching is a love language and a huge responsibility. Sometimes we have the opportunity to make up for other teachers’ shortcomings, and I pray that other teachers are able to do the same for mine. I’ve been thinking a lot about this recently because a student talked about feeling safe. That made me think about all the mistakes I have made. I hate them. Mostly because I hope they didn’t affect my students. Teaching is an awesome responsibility. 

Learning is not always easy. We have to face hurdles sometimes. 

Hurdles like explaining that water, although considered tasteless and odorless, is not all the same.

But wait. Isn’t it two hydrogens and one oxygen? I mean, that’s it, chemically speaking. 

It’s true, but there is more truth than meets the eye. 

So I’ll tell you a story

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