I knew them by their handwriting. Messy, neat, long, fat, curisive, or print- each one different, each one special, each one a new discovery.

They wrote me papers about John F. Kennedy and Cindy Crawford, cometimes M&M's and sometimes Milkyways. They wrote about the Olympics and how they always wanted to be astronauts. They told me all they knew about Route 66 and poured out informaion about 9/11, gathered from 7 different sources, on a sheet of paper. They told me their dreams, and about their role models. I am confident I knew more about them then anyone else.

I knew them by their handwriting- Caroline's was blue ink and looped; Taylor's was messy and big; Laura's was small and neat.
I knew them by their subjects- Eric always wrote about a sport; Wes always wrote about Shakespeare's many works; Adam always wrote about electronics.

I knew them all by the color ink the wrote, by their determination, by their talent, by their application, by their vocabulary, and by their love.

I knew them by their hearts and interests; I knew them by pure personality. Jade always wrote humorously; Alec was serious and depressed.

I cried at every graduation, my former freshmen now college students. I watched my seeds grow. I watched as this one taught at Princeton and that one wrote a novel. I encouraged and helped and gave them that final push.
I knew them by their handwriting, and the subjects they turned in. I knew their life story. I knew their sturggles. I knew their goals and acheivments. Now, new freshmen walk in my classroom, not expecting what I'll know, and never knowing that I do. I am the English teacher, their silent mentor, their secret guidence counselor, and their main confidant. I am their former teacher, and they are my former students.