A Pleasure to Have in Class
And a big help, and a great kid, and available to everyone who ever asked.
My parents dropped off my old yearbooks a few weeks ago. Five teachers, five years, and every one of them praised the same thing: how helpful I was. My tenth-grade English teacher wrote the longest note. He thanked me for not falling apart over a paper, and for never whining about it. He didn't mention the writing.
This one goes from a classroom in Rhode Island to a Chelo's where I said no once, at ten, and found out what that costs. Then to my desk, where I almost cut myself out of someone else's story. Then to a subway platform with ten thousand dollars in my inbox and a repayment plan in my head by the time I got where I was going.
Nobody ever sent me a bill. I kept paying anyway.
