My little Angel

Last night I had an unusually vivid and memorable dream. In this dream I adopted a rejected toddler from abusive parents, a little girl with red-blonde hair who didn't want to keep her birth name.

I called her Angel...

She was the sweetest little girl. Feisty, stubborn and a mind of her own, yet caring and kind. In the flashy, montage style of a dream I lived a life with this little girl. I raised her and cared for her.

The dream jumped to many years later, where I was meeting her after a long period of absence in a little cafe. In skated (literally, on rollerblades) beautiful, fully grown Angel. We chatted for a while, laughed over something I have forgotten.

And then I woke up.

I was seriously depressed. It took me a good 20 minutes to come to terms with the fact that Angel didn't exist. I still feel sad about it and it's been a whole day. I felt this horrible sense of loss. I'd lost a child. In one night I had lived a lifetime with this girl. 

This one dream has taught me at least one facet of the joys of fatherhood, the plight of abused kids and orphans, challenges of being a single parent, and that my brain is capable of imagining hair that is both blonde and ginger. It's one of the best dreams I have had in a LONG time, truly a gift from God.

I decided Angel should make at least one mark on the real world, even if only in this quiet little corner of the internet. 

Goodbye, my little girl.

Teaching is itself a teacher

I give extra lessons, teaching maths and programming to high school students. It has given me some really strange moments, being both a student and a teacher at the same time. For instance, telling the kid he really needs to do the homework, that he won't improve without it, then realising I have my own homework to do...
It has given me a new appreciation for the teachers in my life. It's not easy. Breaking down something you stopped thinking about years ago into manageable ideas and methods is challenging to say the least. I find myself using illustrations that I remember from years ago, that have stuck with me all this time.
The pressure is insane. Knowing that saying the wrong thing could completely confuse the student and you might not even realise. You become invested in the student's success or failure.
I hope I'm good at it, for their sakes. I haven't been at this for long enough to see if I'm making a difference. I want them to do well. I see their potential to do well.
I understand why you sometimes looked so tired, my teachers. I understand why you would sometimes get frustrated. Now I hope that I will come to understand why you stuck with us, why you do what you do.