I thought about how six-year-olds think about teachers.
When you’re six-years-old, teachers are superheroes.
A first grade teacher is larger than life and holds miraculous promise in a six-year-old’s eyes. First grade teachers are beautiful, know big words, and never tell lies. They’re grownups, whose work is to like me, to teach me, and to take of me. They can tell me how things work, help explore the universe, and untie and unravel the most difficult knots. Even parents listen when teachers just whisper.
I was a first grader and a first grade teacher − I know mysteries from both sides of the job.
I also know I told parents some young “teacherly” truths that I truly hope they put off to my youth and ignored. I think of the things that I said in wonder and I wonder at how much I thought I knew, didn't know, wish I knew, later learned, now I know, can't return to put to work for the kids that I loved so back then.
I would be such a great teacher now that the six-year-old I was then couldn't help but have turned out to be a better person today, if I could only go back then and help her to see what I now see about what I didn't see when I was only a six-year-old looking up into the face of a young teacher just like the young teacher I had been. I really would.
At least I got two things right when I was teaching my six-year-olds. Not one day was boring, and they knew I respected their thinking more than anyone grownup had done before me.
Truth is, I respect most six-year-olds more than most of the grown-ups I meet.
Life has a way of undoing our sense of truth, wonder, and belief.
It’s hard to find a six-year-old cynic.
−me strauss Letting me be