Mostly, when I discuss my teaching experiences, I tell the horror stories. All those laser pointers I had to confiscate from the seventh grade boys (and then proceeded to play with, to make them jealous)? Comedy gold. The high school kids wrapping themselves in duct tape (which they nicked from the emergency box, I might add), and then, after they were all thoroughly swathed, somehow getting the roll of duct tape stuck so far up someone's arm that they couldn't get it off, and running through the high school in hysterics? Pretty darn funny.

However, besides children being more entertaining than teevee, there's another reason I enjoy going to work every morning. That being, I teach at least one genuine saint. At an age when, to most kids, peer approval means everything, this sixth grade girl doesn't care a bit which of her classmates are "cool," and which not. She includes everyone, befriends everyone, and remains oblivious to all the petty social machinations which seem part and parcel of the middle school experience. Her thoughts revolve around the lives of saints and how to love others. I'm not sure I'm getting this across properly, but she's just peaceful, holy, and happy, in a way that strikes me as saintly. Of course, her classmates love her. And as for me, I now have a tangible reason to be mostly good; out of fear of a be-freckled mini-saint who I have to face every day.