I’m a 62-year-old literature teacher who thought December would be the usual routine—until a student’s holiday interview question unearthed an old story I’d buried for decades. A week later, she burst into my classroom with her phone, and everything shifted.
I’m 62F, and I’ve been a high school literature teacher for almost four decades. My life has a rhythm: hall duty, Shakespeare, lukewarm tea, and essays that breed overnight.
“Interview an older adult about their most meaningful holiday memory.”
December is usually my favorite month. Not because I expect miracles, but because even teenagers soften a little around the holidays.