It happens every year...
One or two, sometimes if I'm lucky, more-
But someone will walk our of my classroom door
With an anbridled enthusiasm to be all they can be
And I know I've gotten through.
The child who loves French...
Is someone who captures what is essential about French
She soaks it up
She asks for more
She is captivated by the beauty of the language
And she longs to speak it just as beautifully.
The child who loves French
Wants to go to Paris
And when she does, she wants to go back.
She understands, that intangible something, I'm really trying to teach
About having good taste
About having class
About the beauty of impressionist art
No, more importantly -that life is art
Food can be art
Clothing can be art
Architecture can be art
And that romance is the soul's art
When I teach this child
She renews in me
The wonder of delighting in excellence.
And I know this child is one of the few
Who will always want more
Who won't settle
Who sees beyond the borders of our little town.
It affirms for me the reason for teaching
When I find the child
Who understands these things.
Dedicated to Marrina Ladner, by Madame Johnson