Wednesday, December 14, 2011
I'd visited Mrs. Skrzat's classroom at The Eighth Grade Center at Springford just before I'd left for London. I'd sat in a classroom talking about what we believe in, what we write, what we reach for, how we live. And then, in a mad fury, I had dashed off. Not forgetting those dear students—I never do that. But imagining that they would soon forget me.
My high school friend Cynthia Feimster had arranged for the morning. I want her, and Mrs. Skrzat, and all those students (they made me think, they made me laugh) to know that l hold that memory dear. Every single letter in this bright red folder of letters is an indelible treasure.