Opossum, My Opossum

 

This post is dedicated to preschool teachers.  Those amazing creatures who manage to teach packs of 3- to 5-year old kids (who have the attention span of a gnat) about the biodiversity in and around ponds, the painting style of Monet and the other impressionists, the difference between a tyrannosaurus and a triceratops, and the literary style of Eric Carle (all actual topics Walt studied this year).  I mean, seriously, who else but a preschool teacher would come up with the idea to make a "pond" snack of rice cakes smeared with blue frosting, topped with graham cracker goldfish, with a pretzel "log" for a field trip to the nature center?  

 

Not only are they teaching, but they're wiping noses, tending to boo-boos, soothing hurt feelings, and just generally helping prepare kids for life in the cold, cruel world of kindergarten.  And they do it all with style, grace, creativity, patience, humor, and love.  Like I said, amazing.

 

The pictures above are of Walt's preschool CLUE (Creative Learning in a Unique Environment) class at Downtown Elementary school.  Though he'll be going to a different school in the fall, his introduction to the Memphis City Schools couldn't have been better.  Mrs. Merritt was everything you could ask for in a preschool teacher -- and so much more.  She was enthusiastic, innovative, and somehow related to the kids as equals, while still maintaining her authority.  Walt was always excited to don his red (or white) shirt and hop in the Daddy shuttle to go to CLUE every Tuesday and Thursday since last August.  Mrs. Merritt set a high bar for future CLUE teachers, for sure.

But I also want to talk about Walt's other school -- First Baptist Day School.  He's been there practically every Monday, Wednesday and Friday since he was a tiny little three-month old in Ms. Madie's class (where Patrick is now).  Five plus years.  And yesterday he "graduated".

 

Now, you know I am not one prone to sentimentality, but I must admit that I get pretty misty thinking about all the wonderful teachers he has had at First Baptist over the past five years.  Most of them are still there and they truly seem like family to me -- they have cared for and taught Walt so well for his entire life.  From Ms. Reva, who gave me her cell number the first day I tearfully dropped Walt off so that I could call and check on him, to Ms. Ophelia, who has been with Walt's class for the past three years and has loved him like he was her own child, to Ms. Suzannah, who spent this past year teaching him things I didn't learn until high school (no kidding), and so many others in between -- every single teacher Walt has had at First Baptist has been outstanding.  I have tried to thank them as best I know how, but truly, words cannot express my gratitude to these amazing women.

 

If there is any justice at all, there will be a special place in heaven for preschool teachers.  Their crowns will be made of gold and diamonds instead of construction paper and and stickers.  They will feast on lobster and the finest wines instead of goldfish and apple juice.  And naptime will go on and on and on and on . . .