The other day, my son said to me, "I'm happy 'bout you." "You're happy about me?" I asked. "I'm happy 'bout you playing with me, that's why I love you." In high school and college, I had several memorable teachers who managed to sneak in endless anecdotes about all the adorable things their toddlers uttered. One taught me AP Lit. She was incredibly tall and wore heels, always stylishly dressed, rocked a beautiful, snazzy afro and loved to accessorize with bright colors and whimsical patterns. She enunciated her instructions like we might all be hard of hearing or on the verge of falling asleep (some of us really were), and spoke with exclamation marks at the ends of her sentences. She gave us our money's worth, as far as the rigor of a college-equivalent class was concerned. For exam prep we churned out essay after essay, by hand, in class. She demanded clearly-formulated (and legible!) theses and coherent paraphrases from dense sources texts (Crime and Punishment, Invisible Man, Moby…
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