~and they are the children~

During a moment or two of down time yesterday at school, I showed the kids my 55-year old Easter egg.  It's the one from the days of my own childhood and that I keep on my desk in our classroom.  The looks on their faces were priceless as I held the little basket up for all to see.  That poor little egg, the only one from 2 dozen real ones that my sister and I dyed way back in the early 1960's, stood as proud and tall as an ancient Easter egg could as the kids "oohed" at its appearance.  

I told them about my Grandmother Brown, the sainted woman who took care of my little sister and I on the weekends when we were kids, and about how one Easter when we were hiding eggs that we lost track of one.  It wasn't found until several days later and when it was, Grandmother tucked it into the tiny basket that would end up being its "forever home".  For years that little lost treasure stayed inside her built in china cupboard and the story was retold of its journey time and time again.  When she passed away at the age of nearly 106, the egg came back to me.  Just as an aside here, when I began to move my things to Colorado after Mike and I got married, the egg was just about the first thing to be packed.  Mike had no idea what it was but I told him right away.

"Mike, wherever I go, this egg goes with me."
And that was that.

While we were finishing up talking about things as we were ready to get back to work, one of them noticed the picture that I keep atop the little library back in the corner of the room.  They asked me if that was my grandmother.  With a smile on my face I told them that it wasn't her but that she was a grandmother too.  I explained that she was my mom.  They all smiled and said they knew because they thought I looked just like her.  I'm sure I returned their cute little grins with one of my own when I said.....

"Yes.  I get reminded of that all the time!  I see my mom's reflection when I look into the mirror each day."
And it's true.  I do.

Of course they wanted to know about her and I told them all how much she would have loved them.  I said that I wished she would have lived long enough to meet them, to see what great boys and girls they were.  They found out that she was the world's best cookie and cupcake baker and that if she would have been here, my mom would have always been sending some of those delicious treats to school for them to enjoy.  It was nice to be able to talk about her again. I miss being able to do that sometimes, to share her life and truly the legacy that she left behind here on earth.

When it was time to get back to the business of studying our lessons for the afternoon, one very sweet little girl asked me where the snowflake came from.  I had to stop a minute and remember.  Once I figured out that she was talking about my dad's art work, made when he was just about the same age as they were, I was able to fill them in on the story behind it.  I told them that I found it one day in a sack of trash that was destined to be deposited into the Reno County Landfill.  It was all folded up with a message on the back written in my Grandma Scott's handwriting, saying that my father had made it back in the 1930's.  I took it out and salvaged it, asking one of the local frame shops if they could make something to protect the fragile piece of cut paper.  Something that my father had made when he was just a little 9-year old boy was now mine to keep.  I brought it to school to remind me to always look for the good in people, especially children.  It was nice to talk about him as well.  I miss my folks and even though I am older myself, I still try to do the things in my own life that would make them proud of me.  

I was once their little girl.

Our classroom community is filled with many things that represent who I am not only as a teacher, but as a person as well.  The picture, the snowflake, that old Easter egg, Aunt Margaret's candy dish, and a dozen other things are very special to me.  Yet even having said all of that, I know for sure what the most precious things are.

And they are the children.