Dixie Cups & Paper Plates

It is the end of class, our last day of the semester. As soon as the bell rings the students run out the door dragging their backpacks behind them. They yell, "bye teacher," mouths still full of the pizza I'd bought them to celebrate their last day of fall semester.

Three of the brightest students hang around a bit--pack up their books slowly. "Teacher, I love you." one of the girls says. "Yours-a is-a the best-a class-a I've-a ever had-a in-a my entire life-a. I'm going-a to miss-a you!" They leave with waves, "We love you Teacher."

I'm left in the room, picking up dixie cups and paper plates.

I'm exactly where I should be.

I'm smiling.