Smell of chalk dust and fresh grass...

It is late afternoon in my classroom. My room is in disarray with costumes and props and scripts as varied as Little Red Riding Hood and Hamlet all tossed into the cacophony of the echoes of a day's work.

The night custodian is locking up other classrooms, tidying up hallsway and bathrooms. With my windows wide open on this April afternoon, I can smell the newly cut grass and it blends in with my chalk dust. I should go home, but I just sit here thinking.

Sometimes I wonder how it ends? Will my students attend the Philharmonic when they are grown...get library cards...study Degas's dancers...read to their own children with passion?

All a teacher can do is try...my Dad once said to me if I reach one child it will all be worth it....

Tonight I speak at a banquet to other teachers...telling them how wonderful they are...how important they are.

Yes, I believe it, we are important.