By Galya Bacheva
PROMPT—I am grateful for ...
Usually they flock in at this time of day. But summer keeps them away.
I look at the barren door, wistful.
Through the haze of my memory, I see bunches of them. Five girls, two boys, another three in the corner.
Day in, day out, they change my life. And I change theirs.
Christian. The school break does not apply to him. The exam is approaching and we are in class every day. Only ten years of age, he wants to get into that cool Gymnasium in Austria. His peers play outside in the snow, but he keeps his nose to the grindstone. No wonder he passes with flying colors. He teaches me a lesson of commitment.
Polly. Playing games and discussing fun topics, we are all enjoying ourselves. Or so I thought. She is nowhere to be found. Desperate, I scout the building. Nada. I ask around. “She’s hiding in the restroom,” someone tells me. I know she is shy, so I give her some space. “Polly has truly enjoyed your class,” her mother tells me at the end of the course. They teach me a lesson of appreciation.
Val. Tired of being the square peg in a round hole, midway through high school she grows wings. I make my reference count, and soon she is gone. An ocean away, she never falters. She teaches me a lesson of courage. Years later, I see pictures of her and her wife on Facebook. She deserves every bit of happiness.
Theodore. I ask him to use the present perfect for homework. “My father has passed,” his story tells. I stumble through his illegible handwriting, swallowing tears. Laying it out in a foreign language is easier, so he has. One of my brightest eleven-year-olds, he defies loss and pushes forward. He teaches me a lesson of resilience. I praise him. He is going to be fine.
Damian. No homework again. I write a note to his parents. “You have no idea what you just did,” he whispers, eyes brimming with tears. I regret my doing, realizing the horror behind the closed doors of his childhood. Never again will I dare tell on him. He has taught me a lesson of fear.
Izzy. A quiet third-grader at first, time and again she returns to my classroom, blossoming out into a confident teenager. Unstoppable. She dreams of achievement and I know it will come. She has taught me a lesson of excellence.
George. Having fallen years behind his peers, he struggles at first. Then within mere months he takes off, outdoing most of his classmates. I didn’t even know that was possible. He has taught me a lesson of leaps and bounds.
Polly. A phone call long expected. “I’m in!” she yells in tears. Unable to contain mine, I rejoice. The years of tenacity have rendered achievement. Off she goes to college in the Netherlands. She has taught me a lesson of perseverance.
I cannot count them. They are in the dozens. Probably hundreds.
I sit inside the hushed room. Their ups and downs march across the venues of my mind. Grateful for their lessons, I am content.
They cross borders and break down walls.
I know their stories. They enrich me.
Galya Bacheva is a beginning author, fascinated with human behavior, cultural interactions, and how they come together to shape our world. This kindled her love for Archaeology, which led to her earning a Ph.D. She has written a few Archaeology-related articles, as well as one short story at storyhouse.org. Galya currently enjoys teaching English as a second language. She loves traveling and spending quality time with her son. Gayle writes from Bulgaria.
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