index | archives | notes Saturday, Jun. 27, 2020 7:55 p.m. << [ The Ones That Made It Through ] >> The last clear memory I have of this tiny boy, in person, is when he was seven. All ashy-blonde hair and stick-thin legs just like his mother. This tiny boy wrapped his arms around my neck, crying on my last day of work because it was my last day with him. I had to hold him like that the whole class and teach around him, giving directions to the others while he sobbed into my skin. His mother messaged me today to say that tiny boy is seventeen now, driving, a senior in high school, and he just came out to his mother as bisexual too. Thank you, she says, for being an early mentoring force for him. She does not outwardly thank me for being a visible bisexual, but that is what she means. I watch him grow, and my others too. The little girls, four and six when I met them, too scared to even get in the pool. One is on a swim team now. The older girls I had, in high school when I taught them, now young adults graduated from college and starting their first jobs. The little boy I used to nanny, with autism, graduating high school. Even if i died tomorrow without accomplishing one more fucking thing, I helped nourish these lives that are now blossoming. Even if I never manage to have kids of my own, I watered the soil from which these people now sprout. Good luck, little ones. i love you all. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org