Dirt under my fingernails

I was not a good student.  I made my teachers crazy.  I spent more time at the cafe on 32nd Street than I did in class.  I slept on my desk.  I read novels hidden behind my econ book.  I giggled incessantly.  I talked to anyone within twenty feet, and if there wasn't anyone that close, I talked to myself.  I was my own worst nightmare.

But.

Somehow, some of what was flung into my mind during that time took root.  It lay dormant for a while, but sometime during the first year of college, seedlings started breaking through the hard earth of my brain, perhaps softened by the water of college tuition and fertilized by a goal to get into a study abroad program, which required a higher GPA than my 2.5.  I realized I was grateful for the teachers who had put up with me over the years.  I started to want to learn. I started to be curious about the world.  And then I traveled a bit and realized how precious and rare the opportunity for education was.  I realized that I had lived in an egg carton; fragile and protected from a reality I had no idea existed.  I realized that education could change the world...teach a man to fish, you know...

My hope is that I can be patient and help instill in these kids a desire to learn...or at least keep them from hating it until they figure out how amazing it can be.  My other hope is that I don't strangle them before they get to that point...