The Child of a Teacher

For all those afternoons wandering halls and doing homework in the grass

The Child of a Teacher

I watched the watercolor sunrise 
from the smudged windows of our minivan, 
made friends with the custodian and ran 
around with the others like me who came 
early and stayed late. I did my homework 
out in the grass or on top of desks, windows 
thrown open, a cold afternoon coffee 
a pick-me-up for long after-hours. 
And still, I sometimes found myself asleep 
on the art room floor, lulled by the hum 
of voices and the scratching of pens eternally 
grading. In the summers I would walk 
the empty halls, footsteps echoing 
oddly, passing old lockers and packing
away books for next fall. I loved being 
behind the scenes of it all, like a spy, 
knowing more than I should from shadows 
of conversation, a legacy I will pass on
to my children, the family trade of being 
the child of a teacher. 

---

I come from a family of teachers of every kind, from my great grandfather who has been a preacher and teacher all his life, one grandmother who taught art and the other who taught choir, my aunts who have taught dance and swim, my uncles who have taught music and were head of schools, to my own mother who is an art teacher. When I was still in school, I knew I wanted to be a teacher too.

After I graduated college I taught History and English for a few years. Then I became a full time mom after my second was born. Soon, though, I will be teaching again, this time beginning Kindergarden at home with my first born. And who knows, maybe someday I will be teaching English again at the school that my kids attend, continuing the legacy for them of being children of a teacher.