Day 12: Gifts of Writing

"I haven't written a book since second grade," Jason dropped this little bit of information as we sat across from each other. I was guest teaching in his 10th grade English class, helping students write argument essays. Jason looked at my expectantly, his eyebrows raised, waiting to see what I'd say.

"Tell me about the book," I asked him. He talked for several minutes, this kid who didn't usually have much to say, about the book he'd written 8 years ago.

"You still have it?" I asked.

"I think so. When will you be here again?"

"Tomorrow," I told him, and then we moved onto the work of the lesson.

I walked into class this morning right as the bell rang. I'd forgotten all about this conversation until I saw Jason reach into his backpack. He smiled at me shyly as he pulled out a small book.

Bound, full of colorful illustrations, it was clear that this book was a family treasure, stored somewhere safe. I held it in my hands, turning the pages, fussing over the illustrations.

I got to the last page, and staring up at me was the 8-year-old version of this young man sitting in front of me. My heart squeezed. Sometimes I forget that these big puppy-like kids were once little kids, like the ones I live with at home. I looked at his face, and he was so dang proud of himself. Still.

"Oh, thank you for sharing this with me, Jason. Can I take a picture?" He nodded. And then we moved onto the work of the lesson.

But, really, the real work had just happened. Jason reminded me of what a gift these students give us, bearing their sweet little souls through their writing. How tender and precious it is. How lucky we are to be able to help them grow.

I don't want to forget how proud we both felt today.