Beautiful words by Jennifer Watson
She was still small enough to carry, in first grade, and dealing with something her little mind couldn’t process, or even verbalize. Her stress took on a different shape, one that looked like tears, a tummy ache, and even tired legs.
My daughter’s young teacher lovingly scooped her up and carried her to the nurse. This teacher wasn’t a mother yet but she stood in the gap for me to do what most teachers do, they bend their back and met a need because of love, because this is what they’ve always wanted to do even though they were smart enough to be a doctor, or run a small country. They traded a big paycheck for little eyes that light up when they hear the smallest praise and the smell of “sweaty kid” which smells kind of like a dog after a hard hour of play and picking wildflowers in…
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