The wheels on the bus

It's that time again.
You know,
It's time for all those special spring things, like soft sweet breezes, unexpected freezes, baseball teams, swimming pool dreams, birds on the wing
...and one more thing.
Graduation.
You know, that special ceremony where young men and women put on their very nicest clothes, then cover them up with hot, shapeless, rented gowns, while topping things off with funny-looking hats that mostly look like something designed to throw like a frisbee.
"How could this possibly be?" she said, as she scanned the high school graduation photos in the paper. She is often kind of alarmed and always totally bemused by the passing of time, and the end-of-the-year ceremony that marks the end of this special phase of life is generally one of the most startling to her, especially when she spots familiar features in the rows of smiling faces.  As a former elementary school teacher who toiled in the same district for over three decades, she knows a lot of them.
And she remembers them, too.  She remembers the underachievers, the overachievers and the non-achievers.  She loved them all once upon a time, and now finds herself entirely unable to see them without recalling the children they were back then.

"I'm so glad to see he made it."
"I always knew she'd do well."
"I wonder if he ever learned how to tie his shoes."

And so the wheels keep turning. Time passes. Kids grow up. And like her fellow educators, both active and retired, she'll always remember them. Because she'll always be a teacher.