When Mary introduced me to her first class yesterday a hand shot up in the front of the room. She nodded at the boy to let him know she saw him but didn't stop speaking. His hand waved and he made intense eye contact with me until she reached a point where she paused and called on him. "You taught my mom and my uncles!" he said breathlessly.
"I did?" I replied. "What's your mom's name?"
"Farhana," he told me, and I laughed and told him the names of his uncles.
"Do your grandparents still live on Barton Street?" I asked, and he said they did.
"How did you even know she taught your mom?" Mary asked logically since I haven't worked at the school since he's been there.
"They just told me about her," he said.
In contrast, this morning Mary texted me from her all-day meeting. "Did you teach M-- H--?" she asked. "She's my sub today."
"I did!" I replied, trying to calculate how long ago it had been. "She must be pretty young."
"She looked young, although she said she was here a long time ago. She only remembered P-- A-- so that wasn't all that long ago."
As it turns out, she was in sixth grade 12 years ago, which is half her life, so understandably seems long to her. But? She didn't even remember me!
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