As a teacher, you always wonder what became of the hundreds, if not thousands, of children you once taught.
Classrooms can be strangely eerie after school or very early in the morning. Memories of children gone before often burst into my brain when I least expect it: the joy we jumped for; the lessons learned; the dreams devised; the hopes we held.
It's wonderful when, as adults, these kids track you down on social media (you see there are some positives) and tell you what a difference you made. It always astounds me when they relay seconds and moments that mattered to them. Some I remember, some I forget but that's not the point. What more can you ask for as a #teacher than to be remembered, sometimes even revered, in a someone else's glowing memory of childhood?
Ultimately, what makes you proudest is to see them happy; taking on the world with verve, belief and determination.
So dear teachers, what a miracle to think you played some part in a rich and complex journey of another human being... maybe many. And moreover, that those children, now fully grown, will never forget you for it.
The class gone home, I mark my books
When the Ghost Children come out to play
“Do you remember us old Sir
from a time long before yesterday
Our ancient crazes, ways and dreams
that are no longer up on display
Forgotten hopes, where did they go?”
Then the ghost children fade away