October 3
The children in my night class surprised me today. They brought me a drawing — all of them huddled around a single sheet of paper, their pencils fighting for space. It was crooked and messy, the colors spilling past the lines, but in the center they drew me. A stick figure with a wide smile, holding a book bigger than my head.
They said, "Teacher, that's you."
I laughed, though my throat ached. I can't remember the last time someone thought of me that way — not as a worker, not as someone who failed, but as someone who mattered.
When I got home, I pinned the drawing to the wall above my bed. The room still feels empty, but tonight it hums a little softer. Maybe tomorrow, I'll hum back.