Teacher

Two weeks ago while I was on second shift, I had a brief conversation with one of my third-grade teachers. She happens to take music lessons from my mom. She began talking about me when I was in third grade. She said that I was popular and creative, and shared a few anecdotes that had me feeling nostalgic. Its weird, because I don't remember a whole lot about my third grade career. She probably remembers more than I do, really. I've forgotten most of it. And how much alike are we to our third-grade selves?
It had me thinking about just how much we change as we grow from children to adults, but nevertheless we are the very same person. In the 16 years since she was my teacher, I have become, for all intents and purposes, a very different person. After all, I'm no longer a child. Yet I can recall moments from my third-grade life: I still have the same identity. I remember making native american dioramas, I remember only eating coffee yogurt for lunch. But in the time since then, I've been through twice as many lives as I'd lived at that point. I've had so many more experiences, made so many more decisions. I find that fascinating.
After we took a family vacation to Hawaii a few years ago, I started keeping a daily journal. Its mostly just mundane facts about my day, but my hope is that some time in the future I can read back through and learn something about myself. Maybe if I'd kept a record when I was in third grade, I could re-experience the thoughts I had back then and better retain the lessons I've learned over the years.