Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Today I parked my car at the end of an alleyway, as usual and walked to school.
    This is the season where the trees are leafless but the days are getting longer.
    The sun was going down. The asphalt was dark and wet.

    These are my three-minutes of freedom; I walk alone in the street.
    I think about the lessons I'm about to start; I cross the path of some of the nuns living in the convent nearby; I meet some acquaintances who live in the town where I teach and wish them good day; I listen to some music.

    I was walking with my headphones on. I looked up and saw among the trees two girls who were walking along the road. I glanced down again and continued on my way.

    After few minutes someone touches my elbow. In front of me I see a girl who's almost out of breath. She has run and called me several times, but I couldn't hear because of the music. I recognize in her a childish familiar face. She has grown up. With some make up she seems older than I remembered. She calls me "Professor" and my memory goes back when I was used to see her twice a week during my French lessons at her school. She's very proud to tell me she has pursued her course of studies in foreign languages. Her smile was big; she thanked me.

    This is one of the best reminders of how good it is to be a teacher. If I have only been able to give someone the desire to discover, explore and learn, I’ve already won half the battle; I can consider myself a content person.

    I continued on my path, smiling and arrived at school.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.