Sunday, March 17, 2013
She smells like tangerines. You instantly love her. If you showed me that love I would keel over in laughter (and, maybe, tears), I would keel over in gratitude to God. “You smell like onions and tuna fish, Mom,” is what I get. First Grade Teacher love, okay. I get it. She smells like tangerines, she gives you yellow happy face stickers when you do well on a spelling test, she’s the one who is telling you that you’re smart, you’re creative, you’re special. “Miss Fleck says that it’s going to be an early spring!” You come home with a crepe paper flower crown on your head. “Miss Fleck says that we should give away half our Halloween candy to the Sugar Fairy!” You do, incredibly, with the self-restraint of a monk. Right down the garbage shoot. “Miss Fleck says that even though there’s that war on terror going on, everything is going to be all right!” You are smiling, one of your front teeth wobbling so much I can’t help but smile too. Miss Fleck, bright blue eyes and short cropped hair, I am glad that you are teaching my boy. Tangerines. Ha.