It’s not about passion of the teacher, finding the soul of a child, or lighting a fire in a kid’s brain. It never was.
It’s simply showing a child the world that’s herenow beyond the human noise.
The recent rush to classroom love-fests fails to acknowledge the value of the old curmudgeon who taught a few decades ago, gruff yet beloved, because she was not the point of class.
The world was.
Why do you think books matter to children so much?