Teach

For some inexplicable reason, I've long suspected that the volunteer who brings my meal-on-wheels on Tuesdays is a teacher. As I say, I don't know why I've felt that way, but this week I was pretty sure.
Along with the Tuesday meal, this lady gave me a colorful poster, made by someone signed "Love, Enzo," showing a turkey, a tree and the sun and wishing a "Happy Thanksgiving."
She said it was made at school by a boy she knew.
So I finally asked: Are you a teacher?
Well, she's retired, she said, but she keeps in touch.
Like my daughter, I said. And I should have said something else.
I should have told her about a note I got recently from one of my Kansas cousins, a note in which she mentioned her two daughters.
These daughters, she said, are always either teaching or going to school.
I wrote back asking my cousin to tell her girls something for me: That nobody is more important to the future of this country than a teacher.
Believe it.