I love the beginning of the semester. I love getting a new syllabus and reading the plan for the semester. I get all excited thinking about all the wonderful things I will learn. I love sitting before a good teacher who shows me the path to learning.

My love for learning comes from my dad. When I was a child, I would bring home my textbooks in September. The teacher had already looked through each one and documented torn pages, marks, and smudges. Woe to the child who returned the book in May with more damage. My dad would spread out on our living room floor and wrap all my text books with thick brown grocery sacks. He handled each book with obvious admiration. He knew education was the path out of ignorance and poverty.

My dad would stop at railroad crossings and wonder aloud about the rail cars. What was in them? Where did they come from? And where were they going? He marveled at construction sites admiring the huge cranes and earth movers. He lauded the engineering mind who planned the construction and made sure the roads and bridges really did meet.

My dad would pat my head and say “A+ 100” and head out the door to work. He would smile broadly at any grade I brought home even if it wasn’t an “A+ 100.” He bought me extra workbooks to practice my sums and nodded approvingly when I came home from the public library with a bag full of books. When I got to college, my dad walked through the halls of the buildings and shake his head in awe. All the learning that I was going to do!

I made my dad proud. I graduated. I love to read. I love to learn.

My Dad loved reading, learning and wondering.