Getting dropped off was always a production. To be separated from my mother seemed unthinkable to me. Even across Van Dyke Road in the gentle peach of Weiss’s house was just too far. The first visits to my grandparents were excruciating (and you know I loved them dearly). I wrapped myself in the telephone cord line, hoping to get the call of return. Even play dates began with tears. As if the little salty pockets of water would form a stream and carry me back to my mother’s arms. I mention it only to put the following in context — I never cried when being dropped off at school. Even in the uncertainty of my first kindergarten day at Washington Elementary, in my polyester dress, white knee high socks and patent leather shoes, I walked up the entry stairs without looking back. Even before it was proven to be true, school always saved me. 

Through the years, I have had the privilege of going across the country, school district to school district, with my books. From coast to coast, we have stood up against bullying with “I am Amazed.” Promoted self-esteem with “Believe.” Encouraged creativity with “Astonish.” Two days ago I got the message that a school in Canada ordered 100 books of “I’m not too busy.” And once again, I am saved.

The answer for me has been the same since I was five years old — keep learning. Through every trial, every heartache, every wave of uncertainty. Today, once again, I pull up my knee highs, straighten my skirt and climb the stairs. No day is ever the same, but everything is going to be ok. I pull open the heavy doors, without turning back. Step onto the terrazzo floors. And begin again.