I’ve received an invitation to the first graduation party of the season: my first class of students will graduate from high school in a few weeks.

Which is odd, because in my mind they’re all nine years old, shorter than me, delighting in stickers on math pages, journaling about video games, and experimenting with newly perfected cursive handwriting.

There’s nothing quite like your first year as a teacher.  There was definitely nothing quite like mine.  I fell in love with those students.  They taught me as much as I taught them.

And now they’re choosing colleges.  And prom dates.  Both of those decisions fascinate me equally.  I was newly married to Robb and just out of college when I met each of these graduates of 2013.

I can see now how time has passed so quickly, how memories transcend and matter.  But whenever I cross paths with one of them, they are surprised I remember them.

Oh, silly you.  Of course I remember you.  Every single one of you.

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