I worked in a publishing company for 15 years. But I recognize fewer and fewer people when I visit there. And little of my work is still around. I volunteer and teach a kindergarten class at my church. But not much tangible results are seen in that. I love it each week. But those five-year-olds grow and move beyond my class, and I wonder if I've made much impact.
A couple of weeks ago, I was walking down the hall at my church thinking some of these thoughts. I walked down the stairs. At the bottom, a young man was holding the door. As I walked out I thanked him. He looked at me. Suddenly a smile bloomed across his face.
"Hey," he said. "You were my teacher. My kindergarten teacher."
"Yes, I was," I said. He smiled broadly at me again.
My thoughts shifted as I walked to my car. Each week my kids and I have fun and we learn. We explore and investigate and play. We paint and stack blocks and read. We create memories.
I may not win an award or have a famous name. But I get to spend time with boys and girls. Maybe something we did will bring a smile to the face of an adult one day.
That's a difference to be proud of.
(Honorable mention in the Dear Reader contest.)