Sunday, two days of the month of August, 2020, my daughters and goddaughter, in a daring conversation, in the kitchen over coffee.
Their memories as former students of Lauro, the intrigues, the festival of nations, and other emotions.
Suddenly, memories of acting as a teacher awoke in me, at Rui Bloem, at Eusébio, at Dimensão, and at Laurão, where I taught (taught) my firstborn, and my middle son.
It woke up memories of a day when I went out with my boyfriend, current husband, father of my children, from the Interlagos shopping mall, we were mugged, and one of the muggers asked the aouto to return everything to me, because I had been the kind teacher at Bento, and I was special. I don't know the color, the brightness of the look, because God made me blind that night, I just remember the words that I had been the right teacher, and that nothing bad should happen to me.
We are in danger, but life brings rewards.
I remembered going to dinner with my students at Rui Bloem, which had been a great time. I remember having already stolen my wallet in the classroom, and then the student himself gave it back to me and, still apologizing, besides everything, a universe that my world was inspired by.
And, the memories that remain.
I don't know how these students are doing anymore, what inspired them in the future?
I only know that in the 32 years of my profession, I remember teaching a group of teachers, I put a dark bottle with a substance, and the girls were asking what it was, after being all seated, and quiet, I started my class, explaining that they would be future teachers of children, and children get too ready, and after class, that class, they started to like the Chemistry class.
But, it was a good time, when feelings were different, where the heart beats strongly when remembering.
And by bringing back faces, tastes, people, colleagues and everything.
Today about to retire, 6 years readapted, without teaching, I live from the memories of many children, who today have become colleagues in the profession, arts, Portuguese language, physical education, others, have become fathers and mothers. Others died from trafficking or the hand of the police, others are in college and have made their lives.
Other directors of short films from the Missionary Village itself, and others distant, where we see ourselves on such social networks.
And so, reminding everyone, in a delicious din, over a Sunday breakfast, with Alexia Cristina, Anna Clara, daughters, and my goddaughter Tainá Soares.
These are memories that life's sorrows bring with joy, motivating my spirit as a child, in which, as a teacher, I always existed. Remembering Arnaldo, my first wheelchair user at Filinto Müller, today the Diadema school has a different name.
He remembered his dreams, and that I always compose in poetry, prose the feelings that arise in my heart, each of my days.
Handwritten poetry in São Paulo, August 2, 2020.
I offer it to all colleagues and alumni who have studied in these school units that I mentioned above. As well as everyone, who helped me without being in class, helped with a prose, a smile, a friendship.
Also for those who have become teachers, and who are part of the great gear of Education.
Tereza Cristina G Castro
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