Our hearts were filled with pride.
There was an aura of fear and apprehension
As we stood close to their side.
We deposited our children at your door,
Our most precious and prized possessions.
We trusted that you would give them more
Then Reading and Writing lessons.
Our unspoken words were, give them self worth.
They are little children, respect their rights.
Teach them with love and remember compassion.
Use a firm hand to break up their fights.
As the years went by, you did us proud
With your guiding hand and understanding smile.
You gave much more than we expected.
That was your way, your undeniable style.
What higher tribute can we pay a teacher?
To what greater heights can he ascend?
Than to have his students praise his work,
And to say "He is my friend."
- Myrna Beth Lambert
I Know a Classroom... (sounds)
+ The quiet chatter of students conferring on a team project
+ The clicking of computer keys as students compose individual essays on their keyboards
+ The startling, piercing ring of the school bell announcing the end of class
I Know a Classroom... (smells)
+ The allergy-afflicting suffocation of airborne chalk dust
+ The gagging perspiration odors following afternoon recess
+ The heady intoxicating smell of permanent markers
I Know a Classroom... (words)
+ "Students, please take your seats."
+ "I forgot my homework."
+ "Great job, class."
I Know a Classroom...