I don’t like it when kids hurt each other. I don’t like losing kids’ clothing. I don’t like getting up at 6:00. But those are nothing compared to the thing I feel strongly enough about to use the ‘H’ word. Here’s the thing. We get these little dinosaur eggs. They’re handed to us barely open and we see a creature emerging. Most are three years old but occasionally there is a two and three quarters year old or a four year old. We spend 25 hours a week nurturing, training, creating opportunities for them. We watch them take in the world, process it, and incorporate it into their understanding. We watch them watching each other, befriending each other, fighting with each other, copying each other, telling each other the rules, and noticing each other’s small steps of success. And then one day that always comes too early….we prepare to say goodbye. We get ready to let them go, trust that we’ve given them all that we could, and try not to be consumed with wondering how they will feel in their new nests. We have to take all the most special memories of them and put them away in the box of things we wouldn’t trade for anything. Then we wait. For new dinosaur eggs.  And we wonder if we’ll ever grow to love them as much as the last batch. And THAT’S what I hate about teaching.


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