Before becoming a teacher, I was a sportswriter. I still enjoy the dramatic story lines and athletic feats inherent in sports, not to mention the abundantly available metaphors. So, count this entry as my checked-swing effort to dribble a hit past tonight's Slice of Life deadline. A bloop to keep my weekly blogging streak alive.
An hour ago, I found myself near the end of middle-school Back to School Night. Two parents dropped in to ask a question about Ultimate Frisbee on behalf of their son in high school. (The son, I'd taught back in sixth grade; Ultimate Frisbee is a volunteer coaching gig for me these days.) After getting their question answered, the parents also gifted me with the news that their younger son, still in middle school, fondly remembered my attendance at a play in which he acted last year and a compliment I'd shared with him about his scene-stealing performance. (He and I have not yet shared a classroom.)
At the end of a long day, the exchange left me wrapped in the comfortable blanket of historian Henry Adams' now borderline cliche: "A teacher...can never tell where his influence stops." Sometimes, though, we get clues.