When I was twenty-three I wanted to teach high school, but I had no teaching degree or license, and because of that I couldn't even work as a substitute high school teacher. So I took the only job I could find in the field of education -- assistant teacher in a daycare. At the time I was terrified of little kids. They seemed to like me, but I really had no idea what to say to them or do. My first day was spent cautiously playing with the kids in the four and five-year-old room and helping out the head teacher however I could. And as the week went on, and then the next week, and the week after that, I realized that I absolutely loved being a preschool teacher. At the end of the school year, when all those kids left to go to kindergarten, I waved goodbye to them all, then got in my car and sobbed uncontrollably as I drove home. And though I wound up eventually becoming a head teacher and working in daycares for the next eight years and teaching countless kids, I've never forgotten that first class. Which is why it was kind of shocking the other day when I realized that those four and five-year-olds who I last saw heading off to kindergarten are now either already in the workforce or getting ready to graduate college this spring. It's kind of strange to think about how those kids who I spent almost every day with for a full year are now about the same age I was when I taught them and I have no idea what's become of any of them. And I wonder if they or their parents still remember me or if they wonder about me like I wonder about them.