It was a nice evening to go for a walk. A short distance from my driveway, a small gathering of children traded their quarters for a coconut paleta popsicle from the local vendor. I crossed the street heading toward the medical building's parking lot when I heard the giggles of four little girls behind me on their bikes.
"Hi Mrs. Morrison," they each greeted me as they headed toward the empty parking lot to wheel around in circles before turning back toward their apartment building.
My route for the evening included a couple blocks along the highway that separates my neighborhood from the school where I teach. I wasn't the only one out enjoying a cool evening hike. At the traffic light beside a nearby gas station, a young girl waved and hollered for my attention. I smiled and crossed the intersection when I recognized her from my 4th grade class last year. She and her mom and brother were returning from a trip to the stores several blocks away.
A few minutes farther on down the street, I encountered another family group laden with shopping bags. "Hola, Maestra," one of the women greeted me in the respectful way families from Latin American countries say "Hello" to a teacher. By this time my lovely evening walk had turned into a heartwarming mingle with my neighbors. I love living in the midst of this community where I teach... which certainly must dispel the myth held by many primary grade children that their teacher lives at school.
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