"Thank You for Touching Me."

One of my female students said that to me yesterday, and I was a little freaked out by it. Actually, she's only been in the country a few months, and she meant, "Thank you for teaching me." But these days, you can't be too careful, and I wondered about it for a moment before I corrected her.

I told my classes it was my honor and privilege to be their teacher, that I was very proud of them, and that none of them, in fact, would need to go to summer school on my account, though I'd threatened them with it so many, many times. (The one student who would actually have to go happened to be cutting, making my statement true.) One of my students drew a picture on the board that compared "beach" and "summer school," sort of the heaven and hell visions in our little trailer society.

Another girl, one who'd had some problems I'd helped her with, actually started crying. I think that school is a refuge for her, and I was very sad to think she would be without it for a few months. I was sad I couldn't help her further.

I have great kids. I am so lucky to be able to teach kids from all over the world, kids who constantly surprise me, kids with stories many of us could not even imagine. And I'm very proud for the small part I play in these stories.

Of course, none of this will be on the test, or registered on a galvanic bracelet, so it's probably of no importance whatsoever.