From behind the wrapping paper doorway, I saw the glow of the Christmas tree lights and I knew magic awaited. My parents, in their genius, “wrapped us kids in” so we would not peak for Santa or packages until it was time. We’d sit by the paper like meowing, hungry cats, pretty much pawing for the unveil. When it was time, we’d burst through the paper like linebackers at the big game. BAAM!
Read MoreAt first, a 4th grader’s letter sat with me softly. Days later, I couldn’t shake his wisdom. This student wrote to Emily Dickinson regarding her poem “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers” and shared: “At first, Ms. Dickinson, I didn’t know what to make of your poem at all.”*
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