We were Gifted.

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I received a text, informing me that a mutual friend had school resources for me. She is a teacher, and had bought these resources out of her own money. Miraculously, she lives around the corner from our new house, so my daughter and I set off on foot, unaware of how hot it was outside. This angel brought crates of workbooks in from her garage, and as I leafed through them, I realized that all of them were incredibly valuable to our schooling this year. I was held spellbound as she described her work, and the hard graft involved. Teachers such as her don’t leave at 3pm, that’s for sure! Each year, she buys extra resources for the kids in her class. She also spends her own money in making the classroom a conducive environment for learning.

I was astounded when she showed me her art pad, and the drawings she has done for her students to build stories upon. She downplayed her talent, through the evidence was there in vivid colours. She confessed that she has many adult colouring-in books, to simply admire; refusing to add her mark. “You would only add to their beauty,” I insisted, and I meant it. She wrote down a list of excellent online resources after my daughter told her that she wanted to put more educational apps onto the IPad. As if all this weren’t enough, she gifted my daughter a map of the world to colour in, and drove us and our three crates home!

She has had time off these school holidays, to relax and unwind, but there have also been several shopping trips to obtain things for the school; a trip to school to decorate her new classroom, online organizing, meetings and much more. Here’s to dedicated teachers like my friend. My daughter hasn’t stopped raving about our visit, and has already set to playing the IPad games you mentioned and is now colouring in the world. Educators such as yourself give kids the world. You literally did the other day. xxx

 

 

March, 27th

http://www.jojopublishing.com/html/s01_home/home.asp I received a text from an old friend, telling me my book was listed on a site. She sent me a link. I found it confronting. The girl in the picture is me. This is my story, condensed into a book. I don’t know how I feel tonight, as I am so tired. Confronted, scared, proud. Not ready. Over-prepared. Why do we have big experiences? Simply to endure them, and hopefully survive? Should we put them in a box, sit on the box, bind it tightly with packing tape and shove it into the recesses of our mind? There are many people who are seared into my heart. They are the ones who shared their stories with me. The teacher who was tutoring the kids in the children’s ward when I was sixteen and having more surgery on my beat-up body. She had been told that I had been raped and thrown off a building. What it must have taken to sit with a traumatized teen, to tell me of her own rape… I looked at the beautiful, functional woman in her thirties, heard her describe her family, and her life. It gave me hope that I could do that too, and have what she had. I saw a survivor, not a victim. Yes, we must tell our stories. They die inside us if we don’t. Before they perish, they rot our souls and our minds, and destroy anything worth having. I took my packing box, opened the bastard and let the light in. I am now in my thirties, and I have a family too. Thank you for sharing your story, teacher-lady, whose name has been lost in the mists of time. I remember your face, your spirit and more than these, I remember your story.